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a song about corruption and forgiveness

I know the skyline from pictures of cities. Maybe we should drive into the world lined with buildings, lined with bottles, lined with barstools, full of strangers: once possible angels who have all become ghosts. Now it’s all empty dungeons, empty bodies, empty bottles, and an alley once empty full of everything I own. The drive has finally flattened. Its veins of road forget the accidents. I’m crying over lines about never coming home. It’s time to slam you shut and try to live with what I know. I untangled your lover’s hair. I washed your sheets, mended your web and kept your prey very comfortable there. Spiders climb your spine; I kissed the one who spun your soul into twine. Our wings now hang in a rusty frame in her gallery. They are pinned side by side.
I am breathing fire at the loveless and the liars but I can’t protect you. If the freshly painted walls of this dungeon’s hallway fall and if the bricks and beams expose the treasons of our anorexic love to show the starving space between then and now and all the poison we poured into the holes that we wore into each other...
I should be sick from rape and murder and our dirty strangers’ colors but now I only smell the summer rain and see our stained glass shards falling out of the frame and they flutter.