people are all that we’ve got

i hope this cherry perfume you rubbed off on my hands is worth how id burn down every old mans garden in fear of someone else taking what i have that is yours.

you are my muse and i am one sobbing painter slicing his veins and digging the hay like bristles of his brush within to capture another thought of you. all that courses through his miserable existence are thoughts of you. he gazes up to you in such complete and utter adoration, the likeness borders on that i have only seen in the most pious of church dogs

i will be dumb enough to do it again and again. enough to coming back. patiently waiting my turn to be called to the front of the line. to serve. to be observed. dissected. sewn back up again.
drop me off in a desolate corn field past dark. tell me to sit and stay even as you drive off.