Let the cigarette smoke roll from your lips like
a red carpet unfurling, only darker and grey
And no celebrities to step lightly upon it.

You always said you wanted to be a star,
pinned to the vastness of space like an exotic butterfly,
But the means were never there.
No celestial view for you,
No beautiful ice-hot fire to keep you warm inside your
Skin of newspaper articles, cut coupons, and
Crumpled paper.

So maybe that's why you turned to me-
Me, in all of my mysterious beauty and dark lure
Me, with shadowed features that were too blurred to remember, but distinct enough to draw you closer;
Me that kissed the redness back into your mouth
And the soft pinkish wet back onto your tongue.

I know why you come here every day
Why you spend every second, minute, breath
that you can spare, sitting here with me,
Fag loosely clamped between your lips
Talking about nothing;
It's because you think I can fix you.
You hope that somehow, two wrongs do make a right
Maybe my dead brain cells can revive yours, and
Maybe my hollow heart can fill your own.

But baby-
I can't mend the scars that run miles along your arms and legs, or the scabs you wear as bracelets on both wrists. The silent screams that spill from your lips and
Ricochet against the backs of your teeth are too loud for
Even me to silence.

But one day we will be stars
Far beyond these dirty alleys,
Maroon-blush-bruises and dead ends.
One day you and I will rise above it all
Like curls of smoke.
And no one
-no one-
Will touch us.