When Love Hands You Lemons, Don't Let Them Go Sour

The earth is still dead

where I erected

a tent

permanent

outside your place

-my love for 50 cents-

and looked away.

Banked on your honesty,

never accounted for

a child’s greed.

Invested in a child’s dream;

crunched and saved.

Even with a 6 percent

interest,

you grew

indifferent.

Refusing to loose,

to gain,

or to move,

your heart

became stale

and that space saved

for me, filled

with apathetic

texts to teenage girls

and the promise

of Never Never,

pixie-dust drunk

dreams

through your red eye,

off-focus,

choking

smoke allergies-

you are smothering me,

my bare-wire furnace.

Burn holes

through the sheets;

trapped heat.

You no longer know me.

And my voice scared you

and my wings burned you.

We smoke the same cigarettes,

yes, I converted you;

we still smoke the same cigarettes.