I am not the only one
Who has served someone my heart on a silver platter
And had it left to spoil in the hot sun on their porch.
Nor am I the only one
Who has trapped someone else's words in my mouth
To find out that they taste like cheap vodka.
When betrayal is invading our wounds,
When unavailing awakenings are resumed,
Unvarnished desire is finally exhumed.
With our skin pulled back and our nerves exposed,
Why do we continue handing out magnifying glasses to anyone who bothers to take a look?
Bitter hope infiltrates our decorums
Despite our lack of wanting.
We despise it's inspiration.
For each time it's cold fingers creep back into our bones,
It rips out our skeletons and leaves us in a mess of
Blood and skin topped with a crusty black heart,