black and blue, baby,
i'd kill myself for a night with you.
a blade this sharp, baby,
could make all your wildest dreams come true.
i could slice myself on your logic:
your past,
your present,
i am nothing in comparison.
i could open a big wide wound on your words,
slit my skin at a single word.

it's four a.m., baby, where are you?
maybe i should begin,
maybe i should start the heavy handed process
that leads to the autumnal quiet.
but i don't have porcelain--
i don't have blood red enough
or ceramics white enough--
i cannot make this the dreamscape it ought to be.
i have only my own body,
i will wreck it if you'd like me to.

is this better,
is this worse than what you bring me now?
a lifetime of scars and seeking,
i cannot fight the battle you have chosen.
i could break myself
all over your heart's desires, baby,
i could wring the sweat and tears from my body
and still not find
the end of the road for you.

you could have been sweet,
could have been simple and shining but
tonight i will write you
all over my skin, a name for the pain,
a letter for every moment i have loved you.