Her wrists bleed, for the attention.
I sit back and watch with discretion at this old film
that I shot in wide-screen,
and in Hi-Def, but just for the "love scenes.
" Go through the door and hit the lights,
sweet. I'll genuflect to the front of the diocese.
Smile big, and slowly turn frantic, as this ocean takes us both captive.

And there she stands, a purse full of razorblades,
her cell phone, and some dirty bandages; she's calling
in her last chance on this boy,
who's drinking his way to a smile.
It could take Jesus to save us both because my innocence
has been lost in you.

Bare shoulder blades up against the glass; I'm sorry
doll, I gotta leave for class.
Just pray hard for the return of 'us,
' and those suggestive words fueled by lust.
But she bled all over the scripture,
in my bed, and on my demeanor.
I'm steps ahead of her in conscience,
thanks in part to this crucifix on my neck.

But some day the sun might just rise again