There is a saltiness to your face
and an awkwardness to your grace.
A callousness to your blackened skin,
and a refined serration to each word unhinged.
You mock me, with silence – though
I will admit, I am surprised by my own
How did that line go?
Did you kiss your knuckles? Before they touched my cheek?
Love is just a word.
I am the verb.
Would you cross your sorry heart and hope to die for me?
Guns and ammunition.
Two very different things.
Guns and ammunition, make bullets out of you.Another line, from another song. That was once beautiful.
Like you were, once.
Before you lost your soul somewhere between Washington and
and a Casino..
The girl I met.
The one wrapped in red ribbon, the one with skin like fucking
opium. The one who’s mouth made me want to
abandon all logic.
The girl who’s fire burned so hot that no one could tame it.
No one not ever.
Until she gave it away to a jezabel, tied to her soul.
I ripped open my chest to rescue you, but my blood was not the right colour. I was rejected like bad food, in a shady motel full of hookers and cookers and onlookers, waiting for the world to end.
I did love you.
But I ran out of the effort of love.
You’re right. Love is just a word. I taught you that. But the verb, baby girl –
is not supposed to be like navigating Pan’s Labyrinth, and
never quite getting it right.