Her Palms Were Read

Everyday I wake to find the plot device written on my spine.
But with rack torture, I turn the wheel and find my peace of mind.

I have these dreams when I'm asleep, black and velvety.
I never can remember dreams.
I wish I could remember things, I can't remember anything.

Secrets the size of cemetery walls- some days I can't get outside at all.
We are what we eat- and I am my word and you are nothing at all.

If I could count the ways I need you, am I just wasting all of my time?
All of the crowns I keep turn evergreen
as I wait for you, the world will pass me by.

I found you sitting lotus under starry-skies
You'd painted eyes on palms red as Hester Prynne.
I watched you cut your hair short and the bobby-pins beneath my twin accrue.

It used to be fun. It used to be kind.
I'm in ill-fit shedded skin again and I can't remember anything.

All young love lives on in all of the sad songs,
drunken kitchen-hymns, your throat's raw
I am set adrift.
I've grown disinterested in every kiss.
The antithesis of wanting is waiting.
Like all of the pictures of the people you miss
That hang impatiently in place of the ones we see in every dream
That came like the rain, and left like daylight over Magpies.

[We were wasting our time nights spent patient and wasted.]