urvile

ask me if I care cause I'm in love with a mouse, she says she don't love me: not at all.
So all I get to to is write, and piss and moan, hold up the wall.



My new skin

In my new skin:
I can be pink, brown or tan.
or the king of England,
inside.

In my new ol' skin
there are no scars to hide.

No secrets, or fear.
Only time enough for love,
is all that has even been.

Because I knew the only limit was us,
my dear, all I wanted to do was share.

It might of been rough, but it had room
for two or three or more.
But when I closed my eyes
it was you, I, and Barcelona contained within.

Imagination, and joy, plus you,
was what made possible this skin

But if the truth be told,
all I wanted was to be with you, not me, inside
with him.

Now this skin does not fit as well as I'd hoped,
it seems much to torn, and thin.

The King of America is all I hope for: to be him

The new scars look like ones before, but
the pain is still quite public; and
I do not share this skin other than
that devil within.

It's color is now black and blue:
not pink, brown, or tan,
and I've scrawled your name and mine
in broad strokes across it again.

Your arrows have pierced my breast, and heart
just like like old Saint Sebastian.

Except he was pinned to a tree,
the difference of course is,
I've pinned you to me.

Now the love that inhabits
is not one of passion,
but of old friends,
and children.

But when I close my eyes I still see
you and I within