seeking solace

hey you broken-boned and bird thing
is there still soot clinging to your eyelashes
or was that just a vodka-soaked
dream?

if i pull you out of the fire will you
tell me that i'm fucking beautiful
no really, no really, no
really, tears of honesty staining and
calcifying your face, i am?

call me your shirley manson
because i would steal a ship
or do time for you in the same
way that i'm some supposedly porcelain
epitome of beauty, lace-draped helen of
troy, persephone edged in black and lightning

broken-boned and bird thing, you're
just that, irrevocably smashed like
everyone else who dreams in colour and
doesn't love me. its the ultimate
agreement isn't it? only existing
once both parties consent

being the only one at the party is just no
goddamned fun