The Rain On Their Faces

I'm not your manic depressive Jesus. I'm not the pawn that takes the queen. I lose. Because I want to. Save yourself.

I'm not asking to be loved. I can do that on my own. Drawing on the sidewalk in bits of little girl. Like real artists do. Scooping the skin from hollow dresses. Naming the broken bones after arguments I've lost to myself.

He once told me there was no one he could love. I didn't believe him.

He just didn't want to.

All those doses. Take me back to when. Sober was all the time travel necessary to prove we were in love.

When you fuck a married man you find out how easy it is to lie to yourself. How easy. How awkward. How hard. It is. To believe anything they've told you.

How many ghosts you've soiled trying on the wrong skins.