with the beauty of plaster on an old wall
I hold onto the old love for you
my former lover
cracks covered with new paint
now blue now yellow now green
now red Red RED
like my lips when I said I love you last year and last night when the wind was cold but the air was hot with our love boiling over and singing teakettle pot songs
Push the buttons on my keyboard and play the strings of my heart in a luxurious legato while you pluck the evil thoughts from my brain and blow them into the ether like dust on an old coffin unearthed from its tomb to find the answers
of our love.
All I am is fingers and thoughts moving and working together. I am no Voice without you to hear it. I am no beauty without you to behold it. I have no heart without you to take it. I have no legs without you to run to. I am no Hips without you to mount.
Leave me alone in the grass on my father’s field until the sun sets on this day of longing daydreams unfulfilled. There I will find a fantasy of happiness never lived, never felt, never born.
So never dead. Undead. Undead love. Feeding off of the love of others. Eating it up raw and whole and bloody to fill my insatiable hunger for the satisfaction of a delicacy no one can prepare without the forbidden ingredient locked up in the dungeon of my soul located somewhere between my heart and my belly.
Gorging myself on the idea of you as mine
wrapped in sheets with the smell of you seeping into my pores I never want to shower again if it means saying goodbye to the olfactory memories of nighttime pleasures gifted from a benevolent former lover.
There is that word again–former.
Why does everything begin and end with you? and take me on a journey through the valley of the shadow of death and across oceans of my neuroses deeper into myself where I fear getting lost in my self destruction if you don’t come to save me like the Princes in all those Disney movies and fairy stories of my childhood.
Oh, why the fuck did they lie to me? True love isn’t true when truth is relative.
Facts are disproven everyday
And love doesn’t exist in the new world I’ve created with gray walls and right angles and “Yes, sirs” and “No, ma’ams” and hugs but no kisses…on my red lips.
It’s a little over-the-top, but aren’t all love stories? Love is a little white lie that produces fables and fairy stories that only children will believe.
even the children inside of adults.
I haven’t grown up yet. I still tell white lies
to myself to make the days go by with smiles and winky-faced emoticons strewn about my electronic devices. Aren’t those the worst little bastards of all the white lies?
Cunts they are. Whores and cunts all of them. Because they are at home with their Princes every night while I’m at home with white lies and red lips singing me nightmare-filled lullubys from hell at home.
I’m just fingers and thoughts…at night.