5-17-17
From the dirt between the tiles
To the moldy dishes
To the alcohol on display,
Empty, but in sight, standing tall before the edge of the cabinets-
This house is sinful.
Smile at me,
Show me your tattooed wrist on history,
Show me your paranoia on a high,
Because we're going batshit
Behind the blinds.
Pull your shades
But lock the door after me-
We don't dare let em see this.
Higher and higher,
It's almost childlike.
We're goddamn stupid,
But somehow,
We're not like they are.
I'm sitting on a couch,
Vision in reverse,
Body shaking because it's cold,
Thinking about how hard it rains in May this year,
I'm with people I've met once,
Yet they trust me with their namesake,
They trust me with their illegal activity.
It's been colder since I shot you,
They want me dead, too,
But I'm just on the run
With a smirk full of secrets.
If only you could see the places I've been.
I tip it back to the sky,
Bring another one in,
And toast to you-
For having a set of eyes higher than the road paved with crystal meth to a city,
A name, a coincidence of syllables,
And I'm clean.
Hang you from the basement ceiling,
Where the beams are dirty,
Or they come tripled to the number.
Shove your eyes into rectangles,
So you can look at me through different sockets and I'll still feel sparks.
From the bottles to the basement,
I'm fucked.
From the bottles to the basement.
From the stacks to the faces,
They all come and go.
Breathe me,
Oh god,
Don't you let them know what this floor is like.
And I come clean,
So clean like I'm searching redemption,
In my lines,
But my lines are metaphors,
And I look at you everyday,
Knowing you hardly know the truth I spill,
Because it's disguised,
And I kill you in my poems,
Kiss you in my dreams,
And hold a stare in reality.
The oceans in your eyes
Are swimming pools
Until I dive in deep.
I said it was over,
But I've strung you into a house of trust and marijuana,
I've strung you everywhere,
Places you couldn't set foot in
But they're fucking soaked in you.
And you don't suffocate me.
You're just a ghost,
No body to hold me down,
No weight in my lungs-
Just a few sparks,
Static in my throat.
- (m.m)
YOU ARE READING
Self Deception
PoetryPoetry 2017 And if I burn out in a fit of psychosis, remember me as a young god, with that smile made of daggers, even if I was the most dangerous thing you could've touched. Perhaps all that danger comes from the multiple personalities, but all I...
