The Lamb
I keep looking for innocence In the boys that look like you Thinking one of them might be able to Kiss it back into me I stand with my cup of poison in the corner And swallow it down with the words of each one Who’s eyes resemble yours Their whispers indistinguishable from one another Their humid, intoxicated lies breathed heavily into my ear I do not believe any of them mean it: When they say they want me When they tell me I am beautiful Yet I fabricate a smile at their pursuits And when my consciousness Is flooded in beer And false tenderness I let them recite your lines In the scenes you probably do not remember writing I keep searching for a different ending To the same story Maybe their touch will not burn As much as yours did Maybe the whiskey on their lips Will not taste as bitter They do not notice how I stumble up the stairs Or your unseeable handprints Branding my exposed exterior By now my vision
