Skeleton Dust

She's all about the 3am drunk dial

These days
it's all she can do
to keep from turning inside out
of her skin again

once upon a time
she showed too much of it
started coughing
up dirty ghosts
and skeleton closets
caught herself
carving constellations
out of scars
and turning mirrors
into makeshift miracles

So these days

She's been looking up
a lot lately
trying to catch stars in her mouth
so she can get
drunk off the moon shine
lining it up just right
so she can forget her name because

no one's ever really told her

"Listen, it's OK if it feels
like your skin doesn't fit;
there's a reason why
our hands are so fragile.
It's to make letting go

So she's been
filling up on lust
getting high off of
skeleton dust and
turning bottles into lovers' arms
because her lover's arms
just don't hold as close
as they used to
and his mouth won't
wrap around hers
like it used to
so she's gotten used to the
bare walls and miles of silence
between them
settled for not having anymore
stories to tell
Settled for crying too much
and not dreaming enough


she still believes
in the beauty of
empty spaces

I see it every time
she whispers
her favourite love songs
every time she
has to convince herself
she doesn't want to
be anyone else

But some days

Some days I want to
pull out the shadows
growing inside her
Let her see the world
without the dark spots

I want to tell her
all the things I don't
believe in myself

The things I gave up on
without tryin all that hard
to begin with

But most of all
I want to tell her,


You are electric butterfly wing poetry.
You are Marilyn Monroe lips and ice water kisses.
You are Basquiat backdrop against overcast gray.

So it's ok if it feels
like your skin doesn't fit.

There's a reason why
our hands are so fragile"

© 2011 Patrick Szajner

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