I replaced his words with crowded bars
and empty promises with broken bottles.
This dulled out town is the graveyard for ‘us’
Another jewel upon a land mine,
but in a world full of places
where something has gone to die.
I’m just happy to have held onto something, so pretty.
The moment the blast scattered me into the sky.
My apocalypse boy,
You are the poverty
You are the poetry
You are the iron in my flesh.
You are the violent
You are the noble
You are the pandemic in my head.
There’s something so tragic about him.
She peels off pieces of her skin and he collects it.
They call him obsessive, its’ endless humiliation.
She’s as addictive as confession.
There’s something so dirty about him.
She eats into his soul like a cancer and he accepts it.
He knows she’s not a Sunday afternoon;
With clean blood and organized drawers.
Her thoughts spin like fire poi
When no one else is alive or awake.
She’s his Tyler Durden,
Evolving and falling apart at the same time.
Deliriously in love with a world,
Extracted from a nightless sleep.
So he listens closely to her laughter,
Because it holds all her frustration and fear
He brings her flowers when she’s manic.
There is a ship wrecked beauty about her
Rose petals caught in barbed wire
But she’s out of control
drunk today and hung-over tomorrow.
She only chases with broken sunrises
and gunpowder boys
She’s a thrift shop flower,
A formaldehyde girl.