Scarlet flags and misplaced trust,
Little pills and twilight rust.
Empty sofa, monochrome,
Skeletons dance, rattling bones.
Sappho’s bust, marble stone,
Missing person, never home.
Love and hate, but which is which
You know me, “a little bitch.”
Split and change, with pointed tongue,
Rising flames from burning lungs.
Paint me black with monologue,
He’s David Bowie, analog.
Pose for pictures, give him more.
Clothes discarded to the floor.
Endless talks of empathy,
For other men, but not for me.
Hemlock veiled with lotus flowers,
New Years kiss, your lips had soured.
Buried under dirt and stones,
Lies a box of rattling bones.
