You're sat right beside me
and I'm writing a poem about you
and you haven't even noticed

*******

You smell like burnt clementines
and flow like strawberry wine

Pick at my icy veins with your icepick heart
your hands filled with light, and my veins spilling dark

Lay with me in a white lace bed
close your eyes and rest your head

Let me smell your burnt clementine skin
and wash my hands in your strawberry wine again

Stop smiling
you smug *******
I think you know how much I love that smile

Next time you do that
I'll dismantle your ivory jaw
I'll kiss it
and break it apart
so it fits
inside my heart

There are beasts in my garden
soulless garden
dark and deep whimsical garden
full of your violent delights.

And the dragonflies
that drown inside your guts
they don't care if they're hurting you
they are big and bold and lighting struck
like your eyes on a Sunday
wired into me
choking me

The eyes that live forever in my garden
your eyes in my soulless garden

Every ***** in paradise
flocks to you my love
sippin' on that alcohol
oh
you're a cheap dime store drug
but they gotta have you
spilling outta their veins
you got that emotional loving, babe
you got them all in your brain

Whistle while you're working on 'em
and they got tar and love in their lungs
you're still knocking back that whiskey
and they're all living off ***
oh, emotional loving babe
what's a girl gonna do
they crave that emotional loving
but all I crave is you

Today I am consumed by perpetual guilt, largely dominated by the fact I am a hopeless romantic who does not conform to general 21st century ideals of what a good looking woman entails.

Much to my misfortune, I do not have curves in places which would appeal to anybody's tastes. Every day I become increasingly grateful for clothes which hang in such a way which forgive and mask my treacherous, pale carcass. I do not belong to a culture which allows me to obscure my face into hiding, so I am forced to cause suffering to whoever witnesses my bruise framed eyes and morbidly shaped nose at a time when I do not care to improve it.

Night time is filled with intrusive thoughts, and the biggest fear of all; who will lie in bed with me and endure my scar littered skin, my insulting body, and myself, starved and drained of self-worth?
One thing is certain: If I was anyone other than myself, I sure wouldn't.