You spill in the black tar all over your body
you flash your yellow smile while blood burst through your eyes
sing me a song, will you?
Something nice before you die,
It's August and we're freezing under a thousand red sheets of snow and we barely feel our toes
you say: write to me something nice, would you?
a poem about my eyes and smile, loving and fucking just before I die,
Our flag drapes over the outside door and the kids run in the pavement
you tell me you can hear their bikes pound your head
you use the syringe to drown out your overbearing pain,
So I write nothing and you stay quiet,
we look at each other and touch with our eyes,
my hands are bones and you have two guns aiming at the sun
it hurts your eyes,
I wish you told your friends about me
I wish you would take me to meet your family
I wish for a lot of things,
a sanguine simplicity in the midst of your insanity
YOU ARE READING
FACELESS
Non-FictionCome along and live many lives. The Faceless have laid their secrets just for you; their stories and conversations filled with life drip from the pages; guard this book close to your heart, for your secrets might be on it too.
