I don't like people. I like red wine & cigarettes.

I wait for cigs to appear in a tiny tea can
I buy things I don't need, not out of greed
He gets off late at night, quite near three
I'm not good at loving anybody, any man,
Anything

Why must I love the poets, the painters, the piano players?

I dilute, I digress, as he touches my chest
Soft permeating whispers of spurious love
Pretending for a reason to reach this octave
I'm somewhere distant, somewhere I can rest
A mess

Are artists meant to be with artists? Do they bring out in each other what is darkest?

He lies tired, I wide awake with moon eyes
I curl my ivory back to his kisses and fingers
My cold heart does nothing but shiver
This is a sad type of a music, reprise after reprise
I sometimes cry

And I can't get close, cause I can't relate.
No brain train is the same,
but mines off the rails and no one knows what it's like to ride,
******* great,
*this is why I don't date.

We talked about religion and after life, and Jesus Christ
..All over death
He told me of his beliefs, and how they came to be
...All over death
Talking little about work, or the body being at rest
[All this too, over death]
I conceded that I’d think a little more about
All the possibilities, but retain my doubt,
[As we set the ****** features and drained the blood out]
Conversation had turned deep, leaving me room to think

All over death

/