Help it. Please
***--***
"it's been another bad day," you admit,
as you fashion broken words out of skin
and veins so deeply blue.
convinced of your lack of conviction,
sob stories and the metallic click of lighters never
sounded so good in the [admittedly fractal] light
of unrequited affections.
with care you select the cliche of the moment
(a stab to the back);
black hearts and painkillers, your redemption.
looking heavenward with gravity,
you make me wish i could bite your own bullets.
