Thursday, October 4, 2012

she's been taking out
the blood. she's been
bleeding you dry like
a sand bank.

i heard you couldn't
have children, couldn't
get all worked up. dry as
a sand bank.

i know you think it's
not true, but it is true
you'll never be more
beautiful than you were.

its the light, it highlights
the slow curves and
bows of your lips.

you could be a failure now.
you could be a failure now.

but you're not, 
and she's injecting blood
into your eye balls. trying to
get your waters moving,
inducing some kind of mediocre reaction.

(its all the media man, the media)

but the media didn't cause your dry sense of humor,
or the slowly burning tumor growing inside your chest
where you heart ought to be.

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