i'm one quiver away from an opening act -
one clutch of the sheets from a bottle of red wine.
i'm three scratches away from new york city,
and a whisper or two from the top of the world.
i can't feel your hands moving rough against my skin,
but i can feel the chords snaking their way through my veins.
i can't see your ceiling fan working its lazy way in circles
or the crack in your wall from too many nights of rain,
but i can see the silhouettes of a full house through a film of smoke
settled just below the track lights.
i can't hear your breath catch or my name fall from your lips,
but i can hear whistles and catcalls and the ring of a telephone.
tell them i'm on my way. tell them i'll catch a plane.
tell them they made the right choice this time.
choke me, fill me, scar me, kill me.
i'll bleed, but the headlines will be worth it.