Sweater

Sweater

It is easy for me

to read words through the smoke

of a broken cigarette,

it is easy for me

to stay wasted and occupied.

Having no regret 

or inclination

to clear my name,

I stagger through life;

of course,

not wanting

for another tomorrow.

And she gives me roses

when I cut her,

she likes the taste

of blood,

it reminds her of mother.

In my hands 

she is afraid,

and all her friends

stare at me;

I have read this story before,

I penned the play.

But when she breaks

she breaks,

leaving lasting impressions

on the pages of my soul,

loosing her to the night,

to the moon

and the flickering of the stars.

And I'm not trapped anymore,

in this first big lie.