Still feel cold, even here
frozen by your long forgotten gaze
crave for the purity of a white centered star
with its boundless, awful blaze.
Bottle of sunblock, useless in the drawer
I want to burn all my skin off
I want to forget who I was before,
peel myself back and call myself yours.

No storms in Scottsdale, Arizona
smells like rough dirt and control
no wetness in my brand new persona
only this chaste stoicism, I extol.
At the mercy of a callous sun
stuck in the convenience store,
with the dollar pack gum
and neon aisles
waiting on someone's merciless son
put me out and call me mercantile.

Bright and unforgiving florescence
security camera nailed to the wall
here forever, herded by invisible presence
popped open, and losing my effervescence
always in stock, always on call.
Middle of nowhere
and still not lost at all
in the land of desperation
all there is to do is wait
holed up in some air conditioned haven
believing in the fiction of fate
something deep inside of me
is going rotten,
threatening to break.
I've gone past my best by date
put me out
out of my misery
tired of this mirage and it's bewitchery
let me into the wild
to fall to my own devices
no longer a fool for you
and all your sugar-sweet vices.