The Theif of Hearts

Dear Jane,
You’ve been through crimson silence.
On a green night I’ve seen your face turn crooked
with jealousy. Your hands slither down the
roads of belly buttons and long curls of
hair only to feel a heat that will not comfort.
You dip in raw, flesh on flesh,
until your body quivers with empty
exhaustion. Your sullen eyes hope
to replace the coat of sweet nothings on his
forehead with something that was never yours to begin with.
Rest by his side now, he’ll leave soon for a
automatic love and children who remember his name as:
“Bye.” He’ll remember you as the open-girl-next-door.
He’ll continue to slip in the back window and you’ll live
as his secret release.
Sincerely,
Dear Jane,
Your hands and breast are cold . Your
nipples are hard from abandonment and your
fingers are laced with last night. Their
scents will forever live on your body.
I hear you’re only laughing them away with hollowness
and unsuccessful triumph. And I see you’re
walking down the street with skin skins,
but these luring masks will never hide your beating shame.
Why don’t you wear underwear, hmm?
Stop opening your legs when your hear,
“Easy access.” Smoke this cigarette fill your
lungs with a slow death because your body can’t
handle the wheel of men, who assured you that their
automatic love is ending and there is a security within
the word, “Us.” Lay your head on your pillow for one
night and remember me, “Dear God for I have sinned.”

Sincerely,
Dear Jane,
I can see you through those red eyed tears.
Even through the crimson silence, I can see your hand searching for a day-night love. Let your
hands fill you because loves comes only for thieves.

Yours sincerely.