Your tattooed pocket upon my breast
The mistake that felt so right, so good,
Everything I write leads back to you
I cheated myself like I knew I would.
I play my ribcage like a xylophone
As I hum to the tune of before,
'Cause you're my fella, you're my guy
I cry for you on the kitchen floor.
I die a hundred times but you're not here
When the world just stares as I begin to crack
The curtain has fallen and so has my spirit
Now I'll go back to black.
[Written some time in 2008. Revised 2010.]

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