Tuesday, March 5, 2013


No, you can't smoke out the sinister things
And you can't drink away the demons
You never really beat off the bad
And there's no use in scratching at a scar

You can build things up, though,
To cover them, drape and dress them up
And set fire
Hope it's a glorious blaze – when it all goes up for good

Or keep it, keep it all
The filthy white rag of yourself
You have to look at it, crushed and damp
You can try to squeeze the ink out

The blackest bits of you
Drip, drip, drip
A reversed constellation would assemble
Cobalt freckles, flaws on tile floor

Then you would face it,
The black and white mirror at your feet
Only the ugly
And you have to look at it

You have to look because no one can look for you
At your little devils,
Damnable thoughts,

Then you'd see it – the delicate darkness
Negligible jots on an expanse of white
Such a slight stain you made
Your sins, on this infinite marble

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