all you want is a ticket to ride after you show me everything

You trampled my words,

stomping on them with your old

size sevens.

But I forget

and mistake

your

triple six

for a holy

one.

You promised to eat

my sadness,

devouring my innocence instead

as you made love

to the

idea

of me:

an unrequited

desire for my thoughts.

And now?

You tiptoe

silently

across my grave,

dancing above the ground suspending my memory.

Shooting up your obscenities

as I sell my sobreity,

my clear-cut conscience,

my unwavering consent.