Every single time I think of you
it is never directly of you.

It always is the red potatoes
sprinkled with rosemary.

It is lit cigarettes on fire escapes.

it is record players,
and scrabble matches.

It is the look on the cab driver's face
as I forced you in his cab
when you got too drunk
on the fourth of july.

It is the ride back home,
over the Brooklyn Bridge.

It is Fireworks exploding
into chandeliers of light,
in the distance,
as you're passed out,
and I'm crying
because I miss my mother.

No, I don't still love
No, I don't miss you
No, I don't regret the things I said

When I said it I meant it
When it happened, it was final
When I walk away, I'm not coming back

My flesh
Why must you forsake me
You give away
My deepest, blackest secrets

My voice
Why must you portray me
You tremble
And give away my hiding emotions

My love
Why must you obey me
You follow
My heart, and you deny my mind

I'll burn down my yesterday
Drown in the ashes

I'll cut my past to pieces
Choke on the shreds

I'll choose to love my today
And be devoted to my tomorrow

She dances on the rooftops.
The tar and cobblestone: her truest stage.
She'll never fail her public; the stars gaze with adoration,
And dance for them until the curtain calls.

She dances on the rooftops,
The ledges drawing near.
The storm clouds utter their applause.
The crescendo drives her on.

She dances on the rooftops,
Wielding a pistol and her pills.
The sky demands she take a bow,
Before the pavement-curtain falls.

you would think
maybe once
you would break your back
for me
because I
already
paralyzed myself for you