Paranoia

Love me past the day I die.

Haunt me like a lost lover with a vendetta.

In the morning, I’m afraid of the day.

Lavender scented sticks graze

my neck so that they can

pat me on the back.

Bullets graze my throat.

Whispering that you love me

in the heavy moonlight

is not a promise unless

you cradle it with you

to the grave.

Everything I love, I hold

onto them in the dirt. I fall in love

with too gentle of a push,

you could fool me

with a two-faced mask.

I look at my feet when

the libras in their eyes

tangle my souls in their fishing nets.

I am afraid of you not wanting to marry me.

I drink with trepidation like

an alcoholic drinks with regret. Crisp

salmon belly for supper,

lay me down on the table,

delicious and vulnerable. Sometimes

it doesn’t feel right to have good friends

because it reminds me of the ones

that left. That isn’t fair to the new light.

The hills are golden, decayed, and rolling.

I stare at their headstones that

grow buds of petals that

bloom into skeletons that

come back from the dead.

Don’t let the ghosts win my soul. They

bet on it every game. Win my heart this time.

Play with your truest poker face,

reveal your hand of the deck,

and play for me

like you’ll die if you don’t win.