The Kind

made myself a mask of stone
a lover for the heart of glassreprieve from lessons pastinbred cynical, I tend tokeep the curtains drawn to mask theorange light, the dawn ofstorybooks and fairy-talesmade real somehowillicit wants rehashed, reborntraversing the valley of the dolls forstrange times with stranger strangers and then...
crushed velvet sheetshot and flourishing as therain outside, the kindinked under my skinsweet nothings across pillowstwo lovers whispering secrets, the kindonly they can hearpretending their voices arehurricanes, thick and fastelongated shapes curled into oneromantic love, the kind that dies
bed linen dresses, that burning silkeventually, unfortunatelyalways ends with bloodshot eyes andviolent cries
only maybe, who knows, this timenever knowing, if it's never ending