when people cry I look away
being there is not my forte
I'm sorry I'm sorry
it's awkward to stay

at a crossroad I paused
to gawk and be awed
I'm sorry I'm sorry
I'll get out of your way

I refuse to study, I prefer poetry to work
parents and teachers are sure to be irked
I'm sorry I'm sorry
responsibilities are meant to be shirked

I sit at my desk and begin to cry
I'd like to think there's still time to buy
I'm sorry I'm sorry
it's hopeless to try

I'll take my leave, try and see what I can gain
take a gamble, throw a die, life is merely a game
I'm sorry I'm sorry
it's a pain to be tame

don't save me from falling
let's not draw the line
I'm sorry I'm sorry
now's not the time

Look at me. I see
eyes that used to see right through me, eyes that understood
a smile like an embrace, warm, secure, familiar
the figure I found temporary comfort in, like fragile shelter in a thunderstorm
the face I grew accustomed to searching for in crowds
but now no more. I see
eyes that no longer see me, a gaze of incomprehension
a smile for formality, one I barely recognize
the figure that was once my shelter from thunderstorms, now a shade for other souls—
a shade I do not need, for I am alright with glaring sun
the face I no longer search for in crowds,
you’re a fish I released back into the sea
you see
I could look at you forever
and never feel a thing.

sometimes hearsay isn't enough
I'm digging, digging,
oh, just raking up the flower bed

you have a sweet face
open yet so guarded
what secrets do you hide behind cherry lips?
you will share them with me over cake and cold tea
you will not take them to your grave, it's impolite

pray tell, what brings you here
and who gave you secrets
speak, those lips aren't just for the painting
why so silent, lady? silence is impolite
I said, you will share your secrets with me
I've already prepared cake and tea and a soft bed for you
(is it normal to be so angry)

the tea is cold, I apologize
you see, we have no warmth in these parts
you're new here, so you have to learn quickly
secrets are our currency

you have lips like a flower, quite dainty
(flowers also die easily)
don't make me pluck the petals, one by one
woman, deflowered
you will share your secrets, one by one

yes of course, I will send the painting to your husband back home

I walk out onto the veranda
in the living room, the butler picks up cherry-red petals and stores them in a jar
I see the flower bed in the distance (at least what's left of it)
I did my best digging it up, I believe it makes a soft bed
I told you, she will not take her secrets to her grave

fret not, woman, oblivion is not an issue
I will see you in flower beds, and in portraits of guarded smiles
your family will remember you in the painting I sold to a museum instead

woman, portrait
you're no longer a mystery
thanks for sharing your secrets over cake and cold tea

my dear
lying cold
lucifer shot a bullet in your head
in your skull it laid embed
la petite mort—
the little death,
or so it's called
you are as cold as marble
but wait, are you shivering from the cold
or are you trembling with shame
mona lisa,
pleased to please ya
I want to die I want to die
how I'd love to take apart
the shattered fragments of your skull
to rearrange the pieces
—as a kid I loved puzzles—
and maybe piece you together purer
oh look, darling
the sun is rising
for the millionth time, the little death
but you're still breathing
oh darling
morning brings a new terror
perhaps in the morning you'll die again

stage one

you had a certain appreciation for artistic pieces
and a flair for crafting blue-black beauties
you looked at me and saw a blemished canvas
you said, "ah, potential for abstract art"

"thanks. let's take it slow"
so you led me by the hand
and laid flitting kisses
marking spots your fingers next would brush

stage two

blues too jarring and too much black
you created art you didn't understand
you threw a sheet over me
"cover yourself. you're a fright"
and with trembling hands
dragged out a fresh unblemished canvas

you were too afraid to breathe and I was too ashamed to speak
now it's all too unforgiving to think about your hands
you can't bring yourself to touch me and
I can't look you in the eye

you carried on with your masterpieces
while I stayed hidden under that sheet
I've heard it said
nobody likes to look at their mistakes

stage three*

I don't see him anymore

I think about how we smothered the best of us in apprehension, heat, regrets
and if I had to speak to him again I'd feel the same shame

never thinking, acting by instinct
like wild animals on a summer evening
it was an exciting picture
its undoing was it had little meaning

and now we carry our shame in different ways
he carves crosses into his veins,
I bury bruises he carefully laid

it waxes,
and then it wanes
it's the honeymoon
before the shame
they told me about butterflies
but not about the pain
on your shoulder a new resting head,
I shoulder only the blame

I am that hour of night hardly anybody's ever up for
I am a fugitive fleeing visions
I am a silent spiral downwards
I am a dog chasing cars

I have compassion
well— a little
I have integrity
well— just a bit
I have self-respect
well—
well—

am I hollow?

I made a little cut
just to see if anything genuine would flow out
little did I know
in angry little streams
your hushed tone, your cologne, a warm embrace
a caress, the pain, your taste

arm around my waist and then
strong hands on my hips
you were the first to make me feel like a woman
you were also
first to leave

you said you understood me
you said you'd give me pleasure
you said the one I wanted was you and
you said you had your eye on other girls
you said "you won't feel hurt will you"
you said our thing wasn't real
you said "dear I know you're feeling for other boys" but boy, I wasn't a **** until I was called one and
you said this was only physical you said it was nothing more but you said sweet things and I entrusted myself to you you said your hands rather liked me but I didn't ask about your mind you said my fear was lovely you said it was cute the sound of me trembling you said it was temporary you said we'd have fun while it lasted you said you were leaving you said I was special you said you found someone else more special you said this was the last time you said—

.......

it waxes,
and then it wanes

it's the honeymoon
before the shame

they told me about stomachs and butterflies

but not that everything intoxicating

dies.