It's like a smile at a funeral.
Soft and insecure,
cradling.
Unsure if you're fit to go on,
but too polite to suggest
such weakness.

You use your wit and your guile
like a mask at the dance.
Gliding in and out of the
crowd with a grace and imperfection
that is fitting to the inconsistency
of your character.

Someone's mirroring your
movement like a doppelganger
dark and fierce,
step by step,
arm to arm
heart to heart.

It's like a smile at a funeral.
Soft and insecure,
cradling.
Unsure if you're fit to go on,
but too polite to suggest
such weakness.

I've become quite
the actor.
Going through the motions
of the days I have to endure
without you like I'm on autopilot.
or drugs.

This is the sixth day
in a row you haven't
slept and you can
still taste the cigarette
on her breath. On your breath.

This is the first night
you no longer scream
into your pillow
words that you scribbled
across your stitched tongue
when she was still yours.

Timing is everything
is what they say,
but they've never met us.
Passing each other
on the highways and interstates
that connect our hearts together
like tiny spiderwebs.
Like shackles.

Don'tcha know babe
that misery loves company
so grab a hand and smile
a ******* smile that
hides the scars in your eyes.
Because misery loves company
and nobody wants to be alone.

So grab a mouth and kiss
it like it ******* matters
because, don'tcha know babe?
Misery loves company.
And I'm tired of being alone.

Don'tcha know, babe?
I love company,
and I'm sick and *******
tired of being alone.

Electrocution: n. killing by electric shock.

Lightning strikes and I'm alone again.
fingers tracing scalp like scars.
Breath short and sour like so many
worried words and kneejerk reactions.

Finger in the socket and I'm
laughing a laugh that only
I can hear.
Smiling a smile that I used to
only show to one other.

Toaster in the bathtub and
I'm cast aside, seperated by
mistakes I made and words
"I don't love
you
anymore"

Tattered at the edges like
a library book
or a garage sale jigsaw puzzle.
Jagged and frayed, yellowed at the
edges.

With a hidden elegance,
like piles of ***** laundry,
or a composition book
with doodles and lyrics
scrawled in the margins like
so many hopes and
dreams.

And a soft anguish
like dusty guitar strings
or a coffee table
with scratches and stains
etched in the legs like
so many hopes and
dreams.

Birds are chirping,
and the ground is wet
with rain and tears that
were not wept. The sky,
overcast with the fleeing
of the lightning storm
that passed through
like a warm knife through
butter. Carving a path
nothing it touched
remains the same.

Lightning strikes and we're at it again.
fingers tracing faces like fire.
Breath short and sweet like so many
whispered words and unwatched movies.

Finger in the socket and we keep
laughing those laughs that only
we can remember.
Smiling those smiles that we hide
now from everyone and each other.

Toaster in the bathtub and we're lost.
Separated by a sea of improbability
and spine
less
ness.

Your voice is electricity
that shoots through my ears
and down my veins like
Frankenstein's Monster.
Reanimating the dead
cells and tissue with
surgical precision.
Arcing across my back
and shoulders singeing
hair follicles and chattering
decrepit teeth in my mouth
like dice in a cup.

Your voice is electricity
and it's clinging to my chest
like a defibrillator, sending
shockwave after shockwave
through my heart and soul.