# 5

When I was still alive I'd thought,
That being good was better than not.
But as I slept, good but dead,
A lightning notion struck my head:
If Life was time to do my good,
And Death a coffin to rest within,
Then perhaps Heaven's been misunderstood,
And is, in fact, reserved for Sin.

# 4

Once I owned a flawless face,
So perfect that it had no place,
In a world where beauty was a waste,
Disgraced, I had my face erased.

# 3

In my hand, when I awoke,
Were remnants of a heart that broke,
It was foreign, cold and made of stone,
Still, I stole it to replace my own.

# 2

When I died I took with me,
The life of something sacred, see?
The secrets that I'd hidden deep,
Disused, fell into deeper sleep.

Musings of a Died Soul

# 1
I killed a man and soiled my hands,
And then I killed again,
Except this time when I killed,
His hands, not mine, were stained.

Whispers and tattoos.

It's time to ask a task of you,
Write me a verse and tattoo it to,
Skin that no one can ever see,
No one, not one, not even me.

Ink it in feeling, pitch it with love,
Stroke it with fingers bare and ungloved,
So that in sleep I'll seek its touch,
And when out of dreams, I'll miss it much.

Tailor the letters, fashion the words,
Forge the phrases into my girth,
Let them whisper what you won't say,
Words of passion, caution and sway.

Now I ask a task of you,
Make me a necklace of morning dew,
Crown me with secrets made of pearls,
And remind me why I was made a girl.

Doorbells and date nights.

Dirty nails.
Pristine clothes.
White, too, and silk, with bows.
Black leather boots.
A riding crop.
A studded bra.
A pink jock cup.

A date! At last, a date.
Chocolate, maybe? Or Chardonnay.
A tux? A dress.
Black or red?
I'd go with black...
But red's a Siren!
Red it is. Hot attack.

Long, curly hair.
Buzz cut, tailored with care.
Two cute?
Too cute.
Blonde? Brunette?
Perfect is insecure,
I like defects.

Shoes. Of course, the shoes!
Haha, why not?
Hooker heels.
Soft leather loafers,
with sheepskin insoles.
Shaved legs?
nah. Razor burn.

Detract! Distract!
What a mess.
The doorbell's ringing.
I wonder...
is my date...
a guy?
or a girl?

The jock cup,
for the pretty lady,
The studded bra
for the alpha male.
But what if...
it's both?
like...
me.