A new brand of hatred

I have twice the size of burn holes cigarette's withheld upon the fracture of my limb. There is a purple snake that twinkles in the camera flash; it's wrapped 'round your neck. I found a match and struck it for a beat. A puzzle of that rhythm you used to tape your feet. I've become an empty ballet, just aiming for a footnote in your forte. Jumping to the pavement where you reason found a landing, I'm stuck in the atmosphere, notwithstanding a breeze of poison ease.

If you JUMP, I will JUMP too. but we can't fall together when we're perched on separate buildings. I would DIE for you; I would like to. There's a cross upon an altar in a basement of a tavern and there I found my piece of mind and the courage to survive ten months without you. I'd cure your daddy's cancer and bring back Dana from the dead, if I thought it'd help you realize what matters.

Chile. or Rome. Or maybe freakin' Belize. I swore I saw you on the metra in the windy city. Your smile was traced to Bosnia, and I gave you no idea how remarkably bizarre most of those hidden motives truly were. So what if I thought of you naked...

I can't spare any more words for you, I'm all worn out. I'm tarnished, and torn, and withered, and worn, and I'm sick of playing the witch. I didn't make you happy, but clearly my Christmas gift did.

When the sparkle in your eyes was simply being high

I never sought to catch a car crash, I never knew they'd be so cool. So inviting and surprising and impossible to forget. The wreck on I-4 West is no contest to the mess you made on my block. That Jeep was too old, too cheap, and needed replacement, anyways. The flip was precarious and I'm glad I shared it with you instead of someone who'd drive near straight on the slippery fields of gravel, or maybe it was grovel? 

The window was our breathe, and the fuel was our inspiration. The paper ball that knocked you off the road felt heaver than an iceberg...we were just the Titanic. We'd always be that sinking cruise and the ship that sailed too deep in comfort. The Carpathia was an ambulance, or two teenage girls buying condoms for balloons and flying Volvo's in the snow, we couldn't be less sure. I'd swear on this unbuckled seat belt that we weren't driving too fast, though I can't remember a sign, there was something that told me to strap those stranglers over our shoulders, just in the nick of time. I didn't save your life. In the end, We only had enough lifeboats for half our friendship, and I prayed for the souls left in the cold on the night you totaled your car.

I reached the shore and held the hand that grasped my broken wrist amidst the rubble. We tumbled from the ruins and saw those days swing past. No longer could I trust you to drive after just one drink, and never again could I think that seat belts were a drag. It kept us alive, to hold on tight, and I'm sorry I ever let you go. You said you wouldn't leave me alone but you flew to Connecticut and I haven't seen you since. That memory we tried to trap on the capsized boat instead escaped into my dreams, or nightmares, and has laid foundation since. This wreckage we're disguising as disease is contagious enough for you to feel ashamed, it's only purpose, I'm confident.

 I wasn't a fan of the bandages and less could I care for the stitches in your hair and the blood that we shared in the street. I'll never see your smiling face, now it's marred with broken bones and an ugly scar stretching from your lip to the base of your neck. We're lucky we weren't next, but honey, I'm sorry, I'd rather drive myself insane then give you back the wheel. 

For Jessie with ember suns and tattoo removal

There's a girl I once loved who provides a flyer proclaiming the sun is a liar
she's seen the friar cook bake circle carrots into silver apples
while the double twice cooked rice was on fire.
She's shot at prisoners with frostbitten toes stuck in brass shackles
and afterwards gave me a call. Or a kiss, or maybe even both.

Those rays are fake, she says, and we've more pain stake.
Which, I reply, for which Christmas we could thank.
When cliche transforms an unleashed anthem for graceful girls
with eyes overcast on ember cooling without water
and rambling dancers tattoo ballet shoes to prove the streets are golden.
There was a ring on my finger with total recall of the love you once gave to me.

When crayons can caution like crossguard and my friends in the city cancelled,
you crashed on our piano mantle and called me immediately because the sun was ember then.
and we saw forlorn men with forsworn orange pills on forsaken carpets of gem.
I stayed alive on memory of texts with photographs of lost love and lost bets
the sun was ember then, as well. She's got a story to tell, and I've an ear for hearing
which is how the sun turned ember again that day.

Grace is what they fought for but the time killed more than the war
The ringleader of the damned banned the ballet of the smoker
and it all went to shit cause you ruined it by turning seventeen
you made the sun rise sooner and the stars all lost their gleam.

It was fornication, under consent of the king
when I mailed her a fleur-de-lis ring
you wanted a thriller, but you just got a ride
and Grace heard my mind with preference lacking find.

Bizarre, the urban pessimist, lost connection one year ago.
He broke through a casino where the gnomes chose to show.
I didn't really read it but he said the words were precious.
I drank his tea at four a.m. and invited Bizarre for breakfast.

I learned from Taylor Grace that tomorrow ain't promised to know me;
That's how my tattoos faded.

In this sunshine state, I've found a spot for rain.
I took it and preserved it here inside this page
with boxes of lines and records of crimes
that I thought would unlock her cage.

I learned to watch the game instead of trying to play
the contact was sinful, I tried before the trees spoke
Indirectly but close enough is enough for hope these days.

I used to call my Jessie and sob for a ballad
I envisioned white halls with and beige walls where she apologized
I opened up that window and assisted as she climbed.
Then I nailed it shut with words and worded it with nails.
I burned two holes when I set my phone aflame
that's when that lucid rain found a place to pour
I don't need Jessie Marie to sing to me anymore.

And I wonder how much you hate me, when you yell "What the hell are you thinking!?"
I taped that letter to me mirror, I see it and I read it, how you saw me and try to be that girl again.

They wanted to all be cats, until we came around.
Then it was smashed, your smile frowned, and I found myself alone.
Forgetting those consequences you mentioned is what got me into this mess
I need you to sing less, I'm not ready to love you again, yet.

Your color was blue and so was my heart when your mother gave me her arms.
You wanted it to be green, I compromised for my queen and instead gave a rainbow umbrella.

What would Jimi think of this new Jessie Marie?
I won't be able to love you. I don't want you to sing.