You wanted a love story, sweetheart—
    well, I’m an unwritten tragedy;
  hand me a skull and I’ll monologue
while Rome burns.
      We’re two acts in and falling fast,
         we’re half a city down and soon
            there’ll be nothing but ashes.

          You wanted a love song, baby—
        I’ll sing to you in a minor key,
harmonies in the rain under neon stars,
            screaming in tune with flowers in your lungs
      and blood in your hair
and city lights and city lights and
                                               city lights.

You wanted a love letter, honey—
“Dear Heartbreak,
   I’ve got purple bruises on my chest
     where my prose hits me. I’ve got
       a mess of clichés and a dark and stormy night
         and a pinch of melodrama,
           no talent but I’m trying, honest.
             I don’t suppose you could maybe
              unravel me a little?
               Cut me open like a knife through butter?
                Maybe then I’ll bleed words;
                 maybe then the poems will spill out of me,
                  entrails unravelling.”

You wanted a love poem, darling—
                meet me in your aspect and your eyes
               at ten o’clock tonight. Rome’s burning, baby,
              and all our lions are loose. No time for
    sonnets; we’ll climb the Colosseum with
    our flowers and our songs and
                             we’ll deny the gaudiness
                                                     of the day.

You wanted love, sweetheart—
I’ll give you everything I am:
           a burnt-out city,
           a soliloquy in G minor.
               I’ll play til my fingers bleed,
                     sing til my voice gives out and
                                                             ­            maybe—
maybe
it’ll do.

Singing
Is
Not
Good
At
Prior risk
Of
Running away from puns the size of
Elephants.

If I had known that twenty-six
Would look so much like thirteen,
I would have kept at least one
Elastic training bra to
Remind me I’m better at
Working under the wire now.

Let me get this STRAIGHT.
Hold on, I'm gonna run this BI you.
I wanna see how this PANs out, ok?
LES just see how this goes.
I need you to TRANSfer those papers.
Come on, I bet you ACEd the test!

she ran
from non-existent footsteps
paranoia
kicking in
from a lack of meds.

a white
metal
locked
shack.
with the stench
of bodies.

a stuffy nose
at the worst time
promised her demise.

a peek
in the window
peaked
her curiosity.
with only a splash of red.

another window
left open
to air out the stench
led to
no-longer-****** bodies

and she screamed
but not for very long
because the knife
peirced her neck
and the scream
turned into silence.