i've never let go of your hand, even when you don't have the strength to hold mine

Diamonds are a girl's best friend
Right.

Cut like diamonds
Slit
Grind like diamonds
Smack
Take like diamonds
Rush

Driving in like a hammer
Your pick into my skull
Jaw split, Achilles rip
Fall to the ground
Then you are crowned

Diamonds are a girl's best friend.

My blood is racing.
Dancing hot and lacing
Drugs with love and then facing
What it means to be
A diamond.

Diamonds are a girl's best friend.

With each deed
I die
With each bite
I lie
With each breath
I fly.

Why are diamonds a girl's best friend?

My heartbeat pulses
like the north star
in my lower lip: I am, I am, I am.

My hair is humid; it curls like
smoke.

I toss Petoskey stones back
to Lake Michigan
where they’ll be safe from
souvenir shops,

at least until they
land on shore again.

I suppose dreams are like that,

washing up again and again
on our eyes shoreline.

Buy me a bottle of whatever you're drinking
cause I'm trying to bury myself in the grave next to your hollow bones

Pace through the traffic back and forth
Maybe I'm blindfolded or just plain blind

Buy me another bottle of whatever you're drinking
cause I'm tired of pretending I'm at war when all I want is peace

I'm staring at the stars, I followed your eyes there
Now I find myself praying you might shift your gaze
Maybe glance at me when I'm not looking

I'll take another round of whatever you're drinking
cause I'm hoping your skeletons are as dark as they look

Lately it's been too bright to sleep
I can see carpe noctem etched in your fingertips
Like a print: your identity

I'll have another glass of whatever you're drinking
cause I can't think of another way to get close to you

For I'm already buried by your hollow bones

I'll take one last shot of whatever we've been drinking
cause it has to be better than drinking the same old **** alone

stop making me think that you care about me more than you really do,

stop holding me closer than you can handle and back away when you can,

because as much I want to be near you every second of my every day,

if all you're going to do is leave me in the end,

please stop

step back

and walk the other way.

Maybe I just want to fall asleep with your arms tightly but gently holding me, brushing the small wispies behind my ear, giving me two thirds of the blanket while telling me that the warmth radiating from me is enough to keep you warm for days.
Maybe I just want to lay my cheekbones and my jaw into your collarbone, to hear and feel your breathing speed up and mine slow down to match our heartbeats and merge them into one, to talk about my deepest worries and listen to your soothing words, and to wake up as the sun rises with your arm still draped around my waist and feel a small curve form at the ends of my lips.

Soon, the masterpiece will come.
Shh, soon you’ll fall asleep,
And maybe in your dreams discover
Words and lines to keep.

For the darkness is a tunnel
Straight to Heaven’s door,
There a thousand poets wait for you -
A thousand gone before,
Before their works were finished,
Before their jobs were through
Now creation of the masterpiece
Is solely up to you.

Hear their spirit, poet!
Listen very close.
You’ve been chosen as the protégé
But do not brag or boast
For the masterpiece consumes you,
Like hell-fire, burns you up,
Leaves you thirsting for some water
And reaching for a cup,
That crumbles when you grab it.
While the water turns to dust,
But still you keep on reaching, reaching,
You must, you must, you must.

Feel their breath, oh poet!
Cool upon your skin,
Though sweat and perspiration
Reveal the torment trapped within.
For the masterpiece consumes you,
Like a pen that’s out of ink,
Leaves you reaching for a pencil,
And needing time to think,
But both ends are erasers
Now your passion turned to lust
So still you keep on reaching, reaching,
You must, you must, you must.

For the darkness is a tunnel
A tunnel straight to Hell
There a thousand poets wait for you -
At a long abandoned well,
Before their works were finished,
The waters all ran dry
There will be no masterpiece
If all the poets die.

Shh, soon the masterpiece will come.
Shh, soon you’ll fall asleep,
And a thousand poets after you
Will search for words and lines to keep.
Phil Lindsey 6/9/15