Ask me how the devil tastes-
Like cigarettes and cracked lips,
stale whiskey and chipped teeth.
Like dried blood on burning throats,
heartbreak, desperation, and a little bit of hope.
Like cold coffee and cinnamon,
neck kisses and calloused fingertips.
Like smoky rooms and sleepless nights,
bleak goodbyes, bulging veins, and pointless little fights.
Like broken glass and picture frames,
blushing cheeks and greasy hair.
Like fractured knuckles and 4 a.m. calls,
messy beds, yellowing ceilings, and plaster covered walls.
Like sweaty palms and crooked smiles,
hazy eyes and cheap wine-
So ask me how the devil tastes, and I'll say he tastes just fine.
YOU ARE READING
Heartstrings and Other Things
PoetrySnapping like the strings of violins, red dripping on my fingertips. The angels cry for the bleeding hearts, the sirens sing their songs of sorrow, both sobbing in their worlds, apart, what is whole today is gone tomorrow.
