The Pretty Weekend Face

The Pretty Weekend Face

I reserved the pretty weekend face for you

Lest your slits of eyes needed fresh reason to say yes

Lest the possibility of need turning into want and want into greed

I cried the week's best tears for you

Now the bed, the carpet and the bathroom walls are lined with blinding suns and mermaid scales

The keyboard with purple studded lightning, all too ready to strike

My mirrored dignity with such lovely resolve

And shiny bullet shells strapped to my faith, 

My conquered lips parted with sounds the siren doesn't even dare to make.

What about the roads I walk on and the steps I take, you ask

Well, they are Splattered with sick dreams made of gold and silver 

("Not a mite will I withhold"

And this I sang with such conviction at church this morning

This I sang with Sunday's favourite tongue

Cleansed, tried and true

Believing I had survived the war but never realising only half the logic had been won)

But above all, above all

See what I see:

The burdened pillow I sleep upon is stained with your honeyed saliva

Pouring out of my eyes, my burning eyes

Windows of the soul? HAHA

So I shut them hard

Slamming them down on my fingers

So that they will type no longer.

What mercy did you ever show me?

Yet I live by faith, not by sight

So I put on the pretty weekend face 

And wasted the ugly daily voice on you

Hoping that they'd both make their way in, their way in

To the innermost place I do not have enough of

Both bowed and sprawled out thin at your feet-

This religion has held my subconscious by her hair

Telling her it's only fair.

My mind is a porcelain tomb

You have pricked me

And here I give you my all now,

Bursting at its friendly, sewed seams

Once intact but now broken into by you, Thief

Fuck, Where is the thread

The purple blue red turquoise strings

That strung the pretty weekend face together

That I willingly gave to you.

But Love detests the pretty game face

So it got cut, so it saw you turn away

Now its charm has finally failed in all its trippy, superficial humour 

Yet recklessly, undauntedly, it has achieved to face what is true

Still, in all my risk-taking, my evidence and falling brows, 

I reserved the pretty weekend face for you.

sab/ 1.19 AM