high heels and broken nails,
your ankles staring at me, tattoo and all,
dry rain sucked in concrete
and the trembling hand
smoking my last cigarette –
you could’ve been a painting on my wall
or an open bottle of wine in my cellar.
instead – you chose distant dreams
of an uncertain tomorrow,
hand in hand with the illusion of love.
in the end – there will be no one
to cuddle against; no one to
fix your broken heels and torn out nails.
alone – you will be nothing more
than a gender-uncertain version
of myself.
drive safe.
the dawn’s about to
cum.
there's someone in my head - but it's not me 
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