you drive me to solipsism.

though I spend hours thinking

of the curve of your lips

and the soft of your fingers,

you are not my muse.

I could not care less for your hands

or your smile, too preoccupied

with myself

to be awed by your splendor.

it is not your touch that enraptures me,

but the feel of my skin

beneath it.

Tattoos cover the lies

Ink over scars

Blending with bruises

Hiding the darkness

Because the world said

"You must be beautiful"

So they dipped her in color

Adorned her face with a smile

Never seeking the truth

That her soul is on fire

Have you ever had one of those normal days where everything's going smoothly, and you just stare into space and realize that something was missing. Maybe it's a special someone that you could be kissing. Or maybe it's that feeling in your gut that you should be doing more in life. Maybe it's to get a career, a husband, or a wife. Or maybe it's because no one sits next to you in that chair, so you just look at it blankly in the air. Maybe it's that feeling where you need to fix things you made wrong, and make them all better with a stupid love song. Or maybe it's just an empty space. A space reserved for anything in life. It could be a phone, a dog, a cone, a hog, a tree, a bear, a ski, or a hare. You see, you may not notice it but one of these days there will be an empty space standing at the edge of your mind telling you what you're missing in life, how to fix things, or what to find to make things right in your life. It's always mocking us, and nagging, but it always fills in that empty space at the end.

Unbutton me, my love

Fondle the buttons of my mind

Release my reservations one

By one

By one

Unbutton me, my love

Slide your hands past my inhibitions

Caress my soul, stroke my heart

Undone

Undone

Unbutton me, my love

Draw me into you, skin to skin

Be mine, make me yours to own

My own

Your own

We are one, undone, owned.

he tells me i am beautiful,

tracing scars with curious fingertips.

he teases my head back

and i part my lips and kiss him

with a dagger tongue.

i am in love with the dead,

cannot relinquish the memory.

agincourt stings, and dresden cries.

somewhere, tucked in my broken ribcage,

a dull ache sings. i lust for the past.

but i have become good

at lying. seated in a theater of

laughless comedy and tragedy

sans tears, i perch and stretch

and yawn bohemian idolatries.

still, i weep for guernica,

cradle the thought to my bosom

as he urges me closer.

i cannot relinquish the memory,

i am in love with the dead.

He carries plates, he carries bowls

Full of delicacies to every visitor

Platters of sweets big and round

And slides down the winding banister

Of a life full of nasty frowns

Exquisite dishes within reach

Disappear in seconds, emptiness growls

For the food upon which he cannot feast

All his tongue has ever tasted

Is the bitterness of murky air

Not a penny has he wasted

For he has not his fair share

He looks at people who don't look back

Stares at their colorful clothes, flashy phones

While all he's ever adorned is black

No other shade has made itself known

To the poor kid who works for a living

Maybe you didn't hear me right

He slogs all day and all night

To live

To survive

To breath the same air as you and I

To revel in his birth right

The right to existence

Despite it all he barely stays alive

These thoughts swirled through my mind

While I sat down with those better off to dine