Midnight Waltz (Finalist, Who Freaking Cares Writing Contest for Poetic Rejects)

This is our last dance
Together, mother, but I

Want you to tell me why
You still let crimson run

Down your lips on Friday
Nights, why you keep

Telling yourself you’ll quit
But never do. I wonder if

This is what lies taste like.
Mother, I can picture your

Gravestone in my mind so
Clearly, see that it has no name,

Nothing to prove that there
Was love left for you other than

Empty bottles. No one left to
See these beginnings and endings,

Only empty etchings of times long
ago. Then what? The bullet that

Bites still burns and now

The lamp has
finally Burnt Out.