This is our last dance
Together, mother, but I
Want you to tell me why
You still let crimson run
Down your lips on Friday
Nights, why you keep
Telling yourself you’ll quit
But never do. I wonder if
This is what lies taste like.
Mother, I can picture your
Gravestone in my mind so
Clearly, see that it has no name,
Nothing to prove that there
Was love left for you other than
Empty bottles. No one left to
See these beginnings and endings,
Only empty etchings of times long
ago. Then what? The bullet that
Bites still burns and now
The lamp has
finally Burnt Out.