the truth

Maybe ill just go shower- 

go and wash the  

lies and longing from my hair, 

to seep down the drain with the suds. 

Maybe i can wash them away...

 theyre like vultures, 

starving for my heart. 

Waiting for it to bleed, and die, 

to give up, and choose. 

They deny my tenacity. 

They circle me. 

Angels and demons, 

blessings, and curses, 

all of them. 

But me. 

I am my own sin. 

Frying in the sun of time. 

do i wish to dirty their faces with my own? 

To draw a mud covered finger, 

down such a perfect jawline, 

or lace that spot behind his ear 

with dirt off my own tongue... 

i am the demon, really. 

Hiding under an angels hair, 

and porcelain skin... 

im the demon. 

aching to be set free from the dark, 

aching to hit my mark...

 

and so, 

the vodka comes to lay 

its gravity of memory 

on my heart. 

so i can sing, 

but never light enough fly