Hunger strikes faith,
Beauty dies in labor,
Rivers rotting dry,
Glamorous, lonely stars..
Here I am in my selfish whims,
In so much of cold, soft skin,
My ambitious fake handwriting---
They’re all for you and for him.
With love...or not...
Misnomer last names,
And unsigned 'sorry' letters.
These are my eloquent white lies,
Inside such perfectly dirty thin lines,
Truth is I'm lying and not why
I am everyone’s little miss perfect.
Not Yours Only...
Here is how my faith is finally gone,
And why my grace is torn,
I’ve run out of paper…
Papers to burn,
And words to loan…
Some meaning to this liar's syndrome.
Thin dirty, scrawling lines…
Etched in my clammy palm,
I take the stage and clear my voice…
And I tell them…
I talk all day into the night…
Till I know I’ve crossed the thin line.
When it’s over, I could breathe
Blurry thin lines, bind me tight
And never let me do that again...
I'm caught by the cold of late November
Spurning out cold rage to the new year
Blindfold me,gag me and bind me tight,thin lines...
Thin lines, never let go of me