Yesterday you told me a lie,
but it's ok, because you always do this.
Lies between us have become chainlinks,
a restraint to keep the truth from setting us free.
Instead, the sun is shining, but it's fucking cold out.
You shiver because the wind blows, and
you have such a time lighting your cigarette.
I have become accustomed to that smell,
even when it stains your fingers and clings to my hair.
I breathe it in, let it burn my lungs, and wait for my
cancer to catch up with
the growth of pain, the lump of destruction located
somewhere in my chest cavity. When you hug me, it stings.
When I hug you, you smell the smoke in my hair,
and light up another cigarette.
I wonder if you smelled the smoke in her hair too,
when she contracted and expanded to
pull you into her womb, the reversed mother,
devouring all she covets. She too, makes it sting.
She has no shame, smiling at my baby with
a swans grace, and salivating at the thought
of your tar-stained digits probing their way
to find sin, and all it's treasures.
I wonder how many times you both thought
of deep canals and angry thrusts while we all
ate lies and cake in the wind, the icing sticking
to our throats. I wonder how many stolen glances
and accidental brushing of bodies you endured
to sate the unnatural hunger of your souls,
lusting to get caught further into that tangled web,
sticky and caressing.
But mostly, I wonder how much you enjoyed my
torture, the lies being thinly-veiled,
and the grin on your faces, not being lost on me.
To let the lies boil over, and force me to drink them,
and I didn't drink enough.
The wind blows, and it's still fucking cold outside.
It's time for another cigarette, too

04/12/2008

Author's Note: From December, 2004. I thought I had lost it.

Posted on 04/12/2008
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