And when you slip right through my fingers
and crash onto the floor,
a thousand scattered eyelashes
stare back at me.
I will stare at my hands
and blame them,
not you.

And I'll break a glass
just to prove
you could've
slipped right through
my hands.

The cold air hits my lungs,
as the animal in my body
takes ragged breaths
exhaling
vapor and fear
inhaling
a familiar stench.

The night smells like metal,
with the sun now eroding
the starry sky.

There is no time to think of how I got here.
A corroding metal bar swinging in the air
just missing
my head.

20 years and a Bottle,
not much has changed
between the mother
rubbing whiskey on her
infant's gums
and the girl that stands tall now
drinking it from a cup.

You baptized me
in the shadow of the sun,
the water made
from Angel's weeping.

The church bells ring
with the Devil's laughter
as they blind themselves
and call me
God.

By the window she wavers,
elegance and grace
unfolding from the movements of her gloved hands.

Animated red lips
move with skill
as she tells a tale
that would make sailors blush.

Eye's flashing and dashing
like the lighthouse
in the middle of a storm.

A whirlwind of blonde hair
who had fought with the wind
sits awry on her head.

I watch as her story unravels,
and the air around her buzzes
with her electric voice.

I make the mistake
of escaping with her wallet,
and am left to wonder,
how her story ends.

A woman and a knife:
The blade glistens,
ever sharply
in the rain that is pouring from heaven.

Her black hair sticks smartly
to the sides of a sharp face.
I trace my gaze
over a smart mouth
with red lips.

But her dark eyes
never falter with such desire.
Her cold stare ever fixated
on the knife's destination:

My chest.