The ones with blurred faces
Knocked down my door last night
And tugged at my limbs with such desperation
- A rigorous exercise.

Their hands, rattling in a sharp neon glow
Stole away many things as they held me down
And shone the bright lights into my eyes,
Turning my pupils into hollowed colour:

Trust.
Potential.
Innocence.
Friendship.

All gone.
All taken.
All dead.
During the break-in.

I made this skirt from
Pierre Cardin's spring collection
Where a thief stole a pound, and I paid a nickle.

I made this shirt from
A pretty curtain
That I ripped out of a groovy bungalow

I made this bracelet from
Beads drifting down river Arakawa
A child's beads, probably thrown in a tantrum.

I made this pendant from
A glass marble from a goldfish bowl
In the small classroom of an elementary school

I found my socks in a dumpster.
I found my shoes in a runaway train.
I found my coat on the shoulders of a model.

And so I plead not guilty.

She won't let a thing pass her by,
Without wanting to have a touch.
To save herself she has to lie.
Daily she has a new catch,
Getting from others without asking,
More like trouble seeking.
But it seems her hands are out of control,
Her conscience no longer plays its role,
She's a slave to unsatisfaction,
She wants to have it all even without need.
Diagnosed but its no disease.
Her heart can be fixed and finally be at ease.

I want to steal your kisses,
And your time,
And your love.
I want to breathe in your air,
And your feelings,
And bits of your soul.
I want to inhale your history,
And your sadness,
And your happy.
I want to wrap my arms around your shoulders,
And your heavy heart,
And your splintered spine.
I want to take your heartbreak,
And your worry,
And your tears.
I want to wipe away your jutted lip,
And furrowed brow,
And damp cheeks.

I want to steal every single part of you,
And only give back,
The good stuff.

Why?

Why did I do it?
Why did I start?
Why didn't I use my better judgement?

Oh I'll regret this
Every time that's what I say
"You'll regret that"
I say as I continue
Why don't I listen?

Oh my own selfish intentions and fear of getting caught
I can't walk down the same roads and streets because I'm afraid it'll happen again

I'm sorry for what I've done

But I just can't help myself

Stupid impulses and spontaneous action leads me to do the despicable

my arrogant "woe is me" attitude
I can't see what's wrong  until its too late

And why?

Why did I do it?

I ask

As it happens again