This poem bleeds dysfunctional desire,
Blood stains through the dirty streets
Mark the paths we trod,
Urban avenues of despair,
But I was still romantic for you,
Your thin unattractive body
And unwashed stringy blond hair,
Your ghost stare in the headlights’ glare,
Your wish to blend into streetlamps
Of non-existence,
Romantic for your perishing soul
Looking for a ride home from strangers
at 2: 00AM,
Something about drugs and tortured eyes
On a lost waif and her pointless life
Was registering as meaningful
In my dark poetic mind,
You offered me the best sex I could ever have,
But I thought, I better let it slide,
Just let you talk about it,
Not put those skinny bones to the test,
Not be one more creep killing a girl
And getting a disease.