muse of the black plague

My soul is a tattoo of our two year history
I was dead until you gave birth to me during the black plague
and no one knows me better

“I wonder if it would fit?”
we’re a horror-show freak-show
discussing the mechanics of cocks
and eye sockets
and that fact that I’m not the kind of girl
that’ll go down so you can go up

There’s a fish in the fishbowl
stick your finger in for a bite
a boxing ring and the confession
that you have trouble hitting a girl

I rode the wave of weirdness
and conversations that never ended
I breathed your words and you wrenched a smile
from my cold lips when I was content to wallow
in the darkness of my deluded psyche

It’s hell in heaven the tattoo read
and my chest is still waiting to be branded with that ink
that reads It’s heaven in hell
because that is where we belong

You were (and are) the mouth piece to my heart
that found a tune to sing
when you plugged your philosophies into the empty void
where my boredom used to lie

An endless muse, in and under my skin
to have our story never written
because no book could ever contain
the glorious dysfunction of a history too strange to tell
though hell knows I’ve tried and failed
lost in the dizzy array of words and picture perfect memories
born of the black plague

© Indie Adams 2013