Frosted Dreaming

I am tired of the game.

.

I am tired of lying on my back, looking through shadows,

To catch a glimpse of you slipping between skyscrapers,

Staring down at this neon city as though there is nothing to it

Worth the weight of blue rolling off your cratered body.

.

I am tired of the burn.

.

It started off as a sick stretching of limits, you and I and this

Strange fantasizing of madness that has turned my soul

Into the black slop fed to the monsters and ogres caged

All around you in those pretty twinkling lights, those stars.

.

I am drunk on lunar light.

.

It's a sickness, watching you slowly undress against the dark.

I've got enough dead spots in my vision to prove my perversion.

Enough burned chicken in the oven from stepping outside

And drowning in the moonlight, mouth as open as my eyes.

.

I am dying in the frost.