One miserable miscarriage later,
two spirits
dance in the flames
inside one body,
reflecting light
on an empty stage,
fedora askew I stand in stockings and lipstick.
I miss you,
in the waves
of dark that flow
over and in
and through me.
I see burning painted men
on the metaphysical plane,
angels and women too,
the plague is
spreading.
Singing in my room,
swaying those two spirits again
up to the ceiling.
My mantra repeats:
on my terms
I will be passionate,
and forgive
in abundance.
You are young yet
and will not understand,
sweet monster
of the north-
drink your whiskey,
sip on wine.
Make me believe -
through the lies
and the humanity,
holy crossed staves,
Helen in the mirror,
she pays the rent,
and even has the heart
to sex you
though you don't deserve her.
But we were just friends
at a carnivale,
I caught your eye,
you stuck me on your wall to remember,
and I kinda liked it,
I confess,
and I'll write your heart out,
I don't mind.
Mais, c'est triste pour moi
regarder tout seul.
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