a jaundiced light flicks outside,
pious, sinful
off, on

the bed upstairs is full of secrets
and subtle demons,
lusty, sweet and brutal

a greedy and glut blood pumps
walking this left hand path
staring into abyss

what a mess we've made
scratching,
at the frayed fabric

now it's torn,
spilling, revealing
sometimes a heart is a fist

it's not love,
this is a disease
but I want to play my part

I'm a pretty good actor



-- Mike Fiction