I am not the only one

Who has served someone my heart on a silver platter

And had it left to spoil in the hot sun on their porch.

Nor am I the only one

Who has trapped someone else's words in my mouth

To find out that they taste like cheap vodka.

When betrayal is invading our wounds,

When unavailing awakenings are resumed,

Unvarnished desire is finally exhumed.

With our skin pulled back and our nerves exposed,

Why do we continue handing out magnifying glasses to anyone who bothers to take a look?

Bitter hope infiltrates our decorums

Despite our lack of wanting.

We despise it's inspiration.

For each time it's cold fingers creep back into our bones,

It rips out our skeletons and leaves us in a mess of

Blood and skin topped with a crusty black heart,

Barely beating.