All I want
is the girl I know-
is dying inside her skins and peeling
lips and fingers from the sticky walls
inside her empty stomach.

She is there like a thousand droplettes
wretched from aching throat
and rotting teeth.
She is there like an addicts suicide love note.
A faltering, fumbling daydream
where world is warm and soothing and safe
on the inside of a broken skull
smashed in the cold of a downtown doorway.

My hands don't reach inside of you.
So porous that the darkness bleeds right through
into your paper cup
your whitened immortality
but thick like the arms of an overripe mother
my hands seek only to save
a listless being so naive.

She is starving in the midst of plenty,
when mirrors decieve
and the light of this world and this God is lost
upon the facets of her questioning soul.

If I could take her inner death and weep for her
If I could save her outer skins from blades and tearstains
bile on scaling lips...

If I could be the sledge that thrust itself upon her walls
and tore them brick for brick...



But I can never save her

and she knows it.

01/10/2005

Posted on 01/10/2005
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