The Girl with the Long Red Hair is Waving a Bread Knife

 
Her rain  
stopped falling in my heart a long time ago  
I can't tell you exactly how many years  
any more than I can explain precisely how it felt  
to be deeply in love with someone that crazy  
Guess you might say I rescued her  
from a low-life drug dealer  
although some would  use the word stole  
Whatever you choose to call it  
I was younger and dumber than I am today  
and he wouldn't give up on his woman easily  
so at first the relationship was of necessity  
an edgy clandestine affair  
Later we were obliged to keep moving  
in fact mostly we had to move around  
too often for our own good
 
One sticky summer's evening  
events took an unexpected turn  
when they caught up with me in the parking lot  
invited me for a ride  
to practice holding my head underwater  
just long enough for me to see stars  
But that kind of warning  
only served to bring the two of us closer together  
though it taught me that businessmen  
and their associates always prefer to play hard  
 
She told me her mother  
had been an Olympic athlete  
and judging by the power in her thighs  
it was probably the truth  
There was something extra-sensual  
about her mouth  
the way the corners turned down  
dirty and raw  
when she was ready to fuck  
which at first was as often as we could  
 
I would bounce her  
on my cock all night  
red hair flying  
upstairs downstairs  
angles positions  
every room in the house  
gardens  
alleys  
cars  
the woods the beach  
the toilets in the park  
Her cunt was always  
deliciously wet and ready  
so we never got sore  
and thank fuck she never  
got pregnant either  
 
She would straddle me with those thighs  
work herself into a frenzy  
and scream down the skies  
until she couldn't stop coming  
which naturally made me want her  
more and more  
But when you get too much of a good thing  
a dose of shit  
is never far behind  
so the wisest move  
is stay clear of the fan  
 
As far as I know  
there isn't a school  
where students of their own death  
can receive lessons in how to die clean  
and I have to make it clear  
I pleaded and begged many times  
for her to seek solid professional help  

Maybe it was the drug history  
something her mother did to her when she was a child  
or just unlucky with bad blood  
but after a string of clumsy fumbled suicide attempts  
mostly overly dramatic and attention seeking exercises  
involving various combinations of pills  
pocket-knives and ropes  
and once in a speeding car  
I'd had the shit scared out of me on too many occasions  
for any kind of future together to matter  
 
I tried to be gentle  
but she didn't take the news well  
The idea of any lover leaving her  
was too much for an ego
already tortured and delusional about its own worth  
Her solution was a simple one  
we would bleed to death  
fused elegantly together  
gracing the beauty of crisp white sheets  
slowly staining red--  
and that's what the bread knife  
was for..