Abrupt.

This silver charmless chain
I'm twisting around my fingers
like a beadless rosery.
Which is ironic,
because it seems I don't have a prayer.
It's an accusation I haven't made yet.
Something that eats away,
necrotizing the part of my brain
that has hope in our future.
I'm wearing spots into the base of my nails.
It's a sweet sting on either hand...
I can sigh.
Note the match of silver on my fingers,
and remember you want to be with her.

Don't let the black spot fade
Don't let me see his eyes.
I'm sick of crying these drunk tears,
don't make me comprimise.
I'm sick of laying in our bed
arguing ovet non-moot facts
Over why you want to leave,
When cheap vodka loosens your tact.

Wine Tasting

It's the pre-dawn slumber hour
We'll celebrate my immediate exhaustion
with twin trails of your champagne fingers.
Leaving warm and bubbly pathways underneath the skin of my bare back.
Cheers to us, our privilage.
Our silver knots and all.
I squint my eyes to face you
You blink back at me.
My eyes inhabit a red wine in the dark.
They'll be what steals your gold
and your bubbling heat.
They'll bring us to our drunken stupor
wherein truth
like that heat which spread on my back
is spilled from glass