ringing ears mean stories lie

But I dreamt of a boy who choked on rainbows and shining armors.

Instead, I got you, the plain gray photocopied MTV creature with unseeing eyes. Nicotine prison of your lips made it impossible to breathe and I put needle diagrams down my spine which became the dark age insane asylum version of a life support - you were busy making cell-phone love through mushy messages - with a six-pence storybook made-up rock queen who couldn't bleed butterflies - but you didn't care.

And I'm crimson so push the syringe into my arm and draw out all the blood until I turn to a paler shade, one that is more to your liking. In your pupils, I saw hesitance and treachery - so appealing. But your skin is eraser dust and march-muddy so I cannot touch it without putting on gloves. It does not matter because you were the one to leave in the end.

Pen and paper became anachronisms in my fire light-and-caves world and I sense your presence deep in the forest and I lick my lips. But you're out there in the star glitter dark and that's the only reason I like you.

This lady I kissed on the lips, she was a pristine fool who would have liked to be a slut - she didn't make it.

Be my faith if you can, but you are the broken raft down the river and you cannot carry my weight - can I blame you for your inadequacies?

Your tasteless lips aren't your fault really but your long eyelashes aren't as well and I envision them in dusk, soft butterflies fluttering against my thighs.

I think I am becoming deaf.