Thanksgiving is here.
For those in other countries,
Say "thanks" and pig out.

I wish that I
could fall in love
with a female,
for she would make
a far better muse than
the gruff sailors and musicians
and drunks and men
in general that I am
inclined to crave.

to write about
a painted pout or
skin that brushes against
your own like nylon,
sunlight shining through
the window onto a Cupid's bow
and dancing down to
a delicate clavicle, or
black eyelashes that bat
and blink remorse
into your cavernous heart,
to muse over such aesthetic
delights, would be
ecstasy for my poetess heart.

I linger, staring, at beautiful
women, androgynous women,
delicate, feline women,
stringing words
together in my head
over long legs and
hair that flutters like silk,
and they think I'm crazy
or in love with them.
well, maybe I am crazy,
but I crawl into bed each night
with my snarling, gleaming,
mahogany gentleman,
and I love him madly,
my rugged muse.

Lets start with L,
who I've been through before.
Oh young love and how sweet it was.
I was watching Buffy when he first dropped
that L bomb.
Big word for such little kids.
But now he's a man,
constantly hiding behind his ego or insecurities,
And I'm not sure which to believe.

Musing on other things than M,
awkward and skinny,
whose voice I've never heard
and face I've only gotten in pictures.
But he's kind.
Which has to count for something,
even if he's doomed to the
friend zone. (DUNDUNDUNNNN)

Back up to B,
and, oh, all the characters I wrote for him
about him
a deceleration of suppression.
He did love me, I think,
but not the right way,
and he still doesn't.
She can have him.
And I hope he doesn't lose a good thing again.

Jump to J,
who only wants me for the V, T and A
(if you know what I mean).
Which is great, I guess,
but I need love
in my heart
and in my bones.
I only have enough for one person,
who isn't me.

And then A.
And god I love him.
And god I miss him.
He'll win every time.

So this is how the song goes?
Take the long way,
so I can see his light's off
so it hurts a little more.
Does this help, baby?
Does this help or does it just make it hurt more?
Flip a coin,
Every second I'm falling further
underwater
But there's a part of your body
That fills up every time.
It's not hope, okay?
Don't say that,
Don't even let me think it,
cause that part of me is my heart
And I can't hope anymore
This is how the song goes, baby.
This is how the song goes, Hannah
Don't say my name like that
Don't say it like I'm the
face you see in the mirror
If he's the sun
It doesn't matter what he is,
The sun and the stars,
or the same compounds anyone else is made of,
Then just answer me one question, baby,
Tell me if it helps
Nothing ever does.


*You'll bleed
to feed
the demon
in me