words

the black bird haunts me again,
those dark eyes that know it,
that breathe it,
dreams of what’s to come,
losing sensation for all others
in this straightjacket fashion.

many tongues speaking many lies,
those eyes grow wide with sight
as planes cut through the sky
and apathetic hands reach out
finding no one there,
gently gripping the night.

accused of all but faith
she hides behind white curtains
and lets the sunlight in
an inch at a time,
cascading down her skin,
the perfect topography
of pale peaks and valleys
that drive my thoughts to madness
while i forsake all others
for this lust i have in me.

not a wish but a need
wrapped in pretty paper
discarded on the floor
beside the mattress
with the other casualties
of this endless crusade
to right what has been wrong for so long.

and at the heart of the monster
lies a ruin of genealogy
burned out ages past
when the fires could still be lit,
now littered with empty promises,
dark thoughts,
that pretty wrapping paper
and countless other bits of trash.

-S.C. Martinez