Her head was a cassette tape in Constant play.
Her hand searched for more
Than fractured skin and skeletons In poppy fields, while
Suicide scenarios played on
Repeat.

Empty beds lay covered with twisted Sheets from nightmares that were Indistinguishable from waking Hours.
Gnarled from a sex of morphine,
Wit and love once lost that lures In her bird foot lunacy as worlds Clash together in a symphony of Breaking hearts and Elvis tapes.

Even God himself couldn't condemn These sins of a song that chokes The stars within
Putting back together a girl whose Broken pieces were a puzzle.
The kind of puzzle that keeps you Up until three in the morning Contemplating whilst all the Crickets have taken there leave. This isn't a puzzle of scattered Plastic and printed landscapes but Of constellations and nebulae in Her blackened lungs that breath in Rotten air and soak up the wisdom In a song.
So let us sit and hope,
Hope that the watchmaker can turn Back before the stars could fathom Gears for hearts.
Hearts that yearn for the warmth
Of a lover's tongue as
She writes poetry with beautiful Imagery and falls in love with the Mere idea of him.

Eyes will scrutinize what they cant Understand as there are those who Write their obituaries on the wings Of a thousand paper cranes.

They drink away their imperfections As there children try and find a Beautiful way to die.
We send them to a war of
Names
And fists
And she prays,
As still as a porcelain doll
And as untainted as snow she Mimics.
We sent our children to war.

Still the paper cranes fly from Broken pavement corners,
Cracked wrists and
Empty medicine bottles.
There will be a pause in each Prayer when a hand will stop to Fold.

Her head was a cassette tape in constant play.