These rooms are getting smaller
without you.
These tired bones ache in
your absence.

You are missing, from me

It's almost five a.m. and
I'm staring at the walls again,
thinking of all the women
and their parts.
Their missing parts and
the chunks they ripped
from me.

Some took more than I could give
and knowing this didn't make
the bleeding any easier.
Pushing boundaries becomes a bore;
I know how far I will go.

I saw the weathered metal chairs
on your porch, the same kind my grandmother had in her back yard,
as I drove near your house today.

I remembered our brief kiss, on those chairs. The electric shudder rippling through my entire being as your lips parted and for one sweet, fleeting moment, I felt loved.

It's five a.m. now and I'll die again today,
without you.

This now.

The milk of your skin,
punctuated by the midnight in
your hair,
pours over my open wounds
until you wash away my insides.

My guts, your home.

I never wanted you to
live without my blood on your hands
because, let's be honest,
your bruises make me hard
and my suffering soaks
your sheets.

This now,
I am the blade
that does not cut.
You are the bleeding moon
hiding in the shadows
of our ancient desires.

This now,
we **** each
other
to death.

Its not the **** that carry's you off
it's the coffin that carry's the others off in.

Respect to POETIC T   ;-)  P@ul.

Sad monkey, blue girl.
Stars in eyes, hungry bellys.
Crying, now sleeping.

Thick clouds, heavy greys.
Birds hush as lightning gives birth;
Tornado alley.