Something about switchblades
Something about switchblades
about nicking a burning mosquito bite til it bleeds
Or rooms filled with worn, sagging furniture
I can disappear into forever
And something about a night with oily stars
That pour over a chipped skylight
And make me want to lie forever
in their subtle acceptance
I once knew about a stranger
I saw when I looked down
her gaunt white skin
hidden by a thin, pale-blue nightgown
Cold hands grip stained porcelain
And dry raspy heaves
say I am too far gone
I have always sworn by
Something about a Savior,
this would be a good time for him to come
Something about destiny
about nights of too-long darkness
of losing anyone who cared
And finding, there,
myself.