Tell me all the stories where the ending never comes,
and keep the torch high as ever.
How long can you keep it hanging over?
Your flames are melting your gentlemen’s mascara.
The chemicals are rushing off every page,
and after all they turn out to be just masks,
no different than the rest of the world and us.
Do the images make you feel so alone?
Maybe dead and stuffed and put in a cage for contemporary gaze.
Subscribe to the headlines and they’ll do whatever is asked of them.
Self-serving meals and waiting in your own line on your own terms.
As it always goes, the circus returns to town,
decked in the flying colors of pink and black.
Look closely, for it all blends in at the seams,
making love and loss, or so it seems.
Smack on a candy-laced smile for the clowns will come to bite.
They’ll fight for the honor of your bridal hand.
Waste no time and strike up the band.
It’ll feel so much better with their warm messes clouding up your bedroom haunts.
Hold your skirt above those expressions of disgust that make-up blocks so well.
And if I bump you in the hallway,
regard me with stories that never end,
and I’ll remind you of the thousands of ones that fell apart,
when you left my room and walked away.
When you left my room and walked away.
( ❤ Mitch)