Girls of the Pacific Northwest

I saw my blood deep
crimson blue
laid out for me in seven test tubes
like maraschino and grenadine
on
cocktail night
like
the lips of whores I’ve wanted to be.
I saw you staring
hollow-
eyed
from across the room--
bent and brooding in the pain of daylight—
Your skin frosted over as a mausoleum,
your mouth a succulent fruit broken open.  
You were conditioned
to stillness:
The stillness became you, and you became
its loyal servant:
an
owl
caught
In
a
ring
of
trees.
I triggered something in you---
I didn’t mean
to pull that trigger.  I didn’t mean
to turn you on.  
Or to turn on you.
But it was too easy: all it took was being
human.
All it took was being
pure.  

The purest of the pure,
through your eyes.
You didn’t know
the sins
I collect like pearls:
Your teeth
were not the first to venture
beneath my flesh.
You were not the first to drink me colorless.  

Like a burning, flickering beacon I attract the
darkness—
it has fed on me since I
was
twelve
entering
through my open window, each night
disguised as a derelict lover
covered
in ash,
missing
teeth.
He took my
Smile for his collection
of polished trinkets—
blackened my lips,
yellowed my teeth.
Then all I was was solid twilight.
Then all I could do
was wait
for death disguised
as a suburban father to take me away from myself.
I saw my blood,
deep crimson blue splattered across the rusted
walls of
an abandoned train.
And you were there with
my smile in your hands
Ready to wrap me up in plastic.  

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