She roams alone

a crying butterfly

who has to keep flying

no place to land

no one there

to hold her hand

Quietly tormented she feels

her pain greater

than being skinned alive

She lulls her self to sleep

sucking on a frozen milky way

Drains all desire

a corpse at her own wake

She hugs her pillow dreaming

it’s Paul Newman or George Clooney

Since sex is like breathing

she’s always choking

for a still breath of air

She lives without fondling

anyone but herself

And can only dream

of missing wet kisses

like those succulent little fish

tossed to a sea lion

Her life is a lie

To keep others from knowing

she smiles and says “cheese”

even though she can’t wait to die