She always had a thing for broken things, but unlike any other girls, she did not want to fix them.

In the wreckage, she belonged.

i
girls with guard dogs at spike-heeled feet
lips to kiss fire, still semi-sweet

ii
dirt black coffee on a fine tipped tongue
and spiderwebs only half unspun

iii
dead roses in flowercrowns and tangled thorns
and white bedsheets, handcuffs, lingerie unworn

iv
tempest springtime to summer’s rest
and flowers of lovers laid on deathbeds

His shadowy brim tipped down and in
No face to place, no trace of chin
Revolver cradled loose and low
Cylinder whirs, chambers roll

Trench coat long, dark, and lean
Black boots gleam with choicest sheen
Right hand rested 'round bony grips
Left hand fans and never slips

Who are you?
What do you want from me?
Why are you here?

Your purpose is hidden
Your message unclear

Never a word muttered
Not even a sound
It's always the same
When you come around

Got to find my keys
Get out of this place
I'm weak in the knees
My heart's losing pace

Jump in the car
Pedal meets metal
Check my rear-view
For signs of that devil

At the stoplight
A peripheral glance
A sideways glint
A figure askance

Shotgun rider
A figment with a plan
The devil may care
But my mind made the man

©Jason Cole