Prose

Yes, I know these converse shoes will hide the holes in my socks; mismatched as they are. And these oversized 50's glamour glasses will hide last night’s sleepless tirade from bar to bar. But makeup can't shadow the teeth marks born of an x pill's dance through our bloodstream... or the coke still plastered to the inside of our nostrils like stucco walls. 
But, while a Newport threatens to burn a hole through the seat of your Beretta, you tell me I'm the most beautiful creature you've ever seen. And now I know how rain feels. Falling is not so bad. It's the crash landing.
It's the pawn shop cash to re-up.
It's the stained sheets in cheap motel rooms witnessing your crawl across the floor. 
More than that, it's your face, inches away from a mildewed carpet because you might have dropped some.
And the most beautiful creature you've ever seen decays on stage. An audience tipping for an encore to afford the score argued about that morning. But, while their groping stares threaten bore holes through my nipples, they tell me I'm the most beautiful creature they've seen that night. 
Yes, I know this jacket will hide my ribs; protruding as they are. And these oversized 50's glamour glasses will hide the fact that I can't stop shaking long enough to apply eyeliner. But this sunburn can't shadow the track marks born of whatever we could find to boil down into our bloodstream.
As I pick the scabs decorating my arms, you tell me you can't stand to look at me. My shutter vision scope of you lands on the pillow. It's like rain. But I can't remember how that feels.