[hyenas make the best lovers]

Location

bury the filters six feet deep

strip the black & white & sepia

just skin & bones & bird’s nest hair

shielding sleepy eyes from the camera

 

one last drag is never enough

so i fill my lungs with the atmosphere

no lipstick left on coffee cups

no swinging from the chandelier

 

lovely girl, i’d move the earth

but the mirror is not a christ figure

 

i laugh with the jackals & steal all their teeth

i’m sure you’ll find one lying lost in your sheets

there isn’t a monster under your bed

it’s still only me, unable to rest

 

lungs like the ocean & knuckles like sunsets

piano key fingers & a spine made of matchsticks

these continents we stand upon are pulling us apart

i’ll pretend i am an artist so i can justify my scars

 

lovely boy, i’d move the earth

but i won’t be your christ figure

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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