Her wrists bleed just for the attention.
I sit back and watch with discretion
at this old film that I shot in wide-screen,
and in Hi-Def, but just for the love scenes.
Go through the door and hit the lights, sweet.
I’ll genuflect to the front of the diocese.
Smile big, and slowly turn frantic,
as this ocean takes us both captive.

So there she stands,
a purse full of razorblades,
her cell phone, and some dirty bandages.
She’s calling in her last chance on this boy,
who’s drinking his way to a smile.
And, it could take Jesus to save us both
because my innocence has been lost in you.

Bare shoulder blades up against the gl***;
I’m sorry doll, but I gotta leave for cl***.
Just pray hard for the return of 'us,'
and those suggestive words fueled by lust.
But she bled all over the scriptures,
in my bed, and on my demeanor.
I’m steps ahead of her in conscience,
thanks, in part, to this crucifix on my neck.

And, some day, the sun might just rise ag