we all find someone else's words
to give our hearts to,
and they are dead
and easier to trust
and love comes quicker
knowing we can't lose
what's already lost.
my brain chew bukowski,
my heart swallows and gulps
drinking nails on a blackboard
tongue like chalk.
we come in red-eyed
and silent, cold christmas
where nothing feels better
or worse
and absolutes are all we
can strap ourselves to.
i am a bomb
a rose in a wine bottle
a scribble on an index card
a song played too loud
only to mask other sounds
an unwelcome trumpet flourish
the creak of the stairs
a girl alone on a couch.
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