Black Rose

I called you God

and asked you to heal me

when it became clear

that the humans I know

can't perform miracles.

Tragically, you were not the one

with the long white beard

overlooking this world.

I called you Mississippi

praying for Buckley's face to be shown to me

in the deep.

Listen to me

I can't stop crying

I don't understand

how a river flow can refuse to carry my tears...

I call you black rose

repeatedly you fade when I touch you

and you couldn't be more apathetic

in that dusty old apartment

where you can't stay anymore.

Perhaps you could start a life from scratch

if you nested on my mind

at least there, you are the only one.

Today, if I depend on you to save me

I will touch the decadent beyond the pale:

the image of an elf being expelled from the woods

and the absurd of giving the impossible one more chance.

We were empty glasses

touched by the white linen

of unworn bed sheets

wishing they were fair grass for lovers to lie on.

I tried to hold you in my hand—unsteady

black rose digging a hole into the moon

to finally escape

from fake suns that promised everything,

just everything.