seven years bad luck doesn't look like a broken mirror

I wear this fear
like a bruise you canít see

I canít save you
from these seven years bad luck

They say there is no rest
for the wicked
and if so
I hope he doesnít sleep tonight

I wonít be
and not for the same reasons

Love spread like a sickness
that cut the circulation from your limbs
leaving you an emotional amputee
and youíve admitted as much

Suicide looms like a guillotine
of guilt over your head
you donít want him to die
and so you stay in the hopes
you can save his life
and martyr your own
in a cross-less crucifixion

I wear this fear
like a bruise you canít see
remember the words
he had for your ex
ĒIím going to cut his face offĒ
as though that was a rational response
to jealousy and the chemically
imbalanced conviction
that forgiveness and friendship
means spreading your legs
for things long dead
and no longer desirable

ÖMuch like heís become
in these days where abuse
is mistaken for holy verses
heís branded into your skin
like a fallen messiah
with a death quota to fill

I wear this fear
like a bruise you canít see
hoping you live through tonight
and every night to come
that you stay beside him

© Indie Adams 2015
Written by Indie (Miss Indie)
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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