Funny how clean the knife goes in
when you're the one holding the handle.
These cardiac gymnastics, these New York minutes
where even concrete sweats promises.
I gave you my combination, watched you crack
the safe behind my sternum like a professional.
The heart's a housing project
where love plays stick-up kid.
Bang bang, baby
I should've known better
than to wear my veins outside my sleeves
in this kind of neighborhood.
The comeback's always uglier than the fall—
hands shaking like a ******'s,
counting floor tiles in empty rooms
where we used to lay down laws
and break them by morning.
Such beautiful criminals we were.
Now I'm just another street survivor
learning to sleep with both eyes shut,
building new bones from old breaks.
The city keeps dealing cards
and I keep playing them,
amateur resurrection specialist
working these midnight shifts.
Watch me rise like steam from sewers,
like spring through sidewalk cracks.
Love's a protection racket
but I'm back to running solo—
safety off, clip full,
ready for the next sweet disaster.
2025, Lost Lounge Massacre
