CROSSROADS

 

corners combined,

edges bleeding

together,

 

like a puzzle

pieces fit

together;

 

Jigsawed sides

Slash lines

In each other’s 

Faces.

 

A buyer,

 

A seller,

 

One of each

is all we need.

 

A dark box,

the contents of a soul:

 

An ounce of salt,

A picture

worth

a thousand

 

of the cheap words

you’ve strung

together

a thousand 

 

times,

 

Another false 

  grin,

 

Another lie,

 

A thread

To bind the broken

words

together,

 

A promise forged

in blood--

 

nothing stronger 

than our tie,

 

A drop of crimson

from that pretty slit

on the inside 

of your wrist,

 

A lock of

those golden curls--

 

Those swirls of sunshine

that 

      drip 

off 

    your 

head--

 

that the girls love

    to 

          twist 

around

their cold fingertips,

 

A bone--

human or animal--

 

to remind you

where you’ve been,

 

Graveyard dirt

 

to remind you 

where you’re going.

 

Your wish

will be

my command,

 

I only require

one thing--

 

Why protest, love?

 

A deal with the devil

A man willing to sell his soul

 

Makes you wonder--

Makes you wonder if he has one--

 

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