3. Something Old

Take me home and cherish,

As only a criminal could.

I like the idea of people who need

Someone so beautiful, so bad,

That they’d wager their life on it—

Or someone else’s.

-

My thief tells me, each time I’m silent,

“You’re too beautiful for me

Not to cherish

Too beautiful for me not to have;

No matter the cost,

I’ve got to have you”

Isn’t that perfect—too beautiful to take

No for an answer.

-

The silence festers while his words move

My lips. They are molded into

Yes, please, more;

My thief tattoos new flesh over

The exposed veins and muscle.

-

I’m like a patchwork blanket:

A piece of art

That’s too old for someone

To find meaning in any longer

My value has slipped through my paint

And dripped from my canvas until my veins

Run out of paint to give

Because I’ve lost too much