Little Killer

I've been painting thrillers again Lines of red on a fragile frame And his little, gentle killer Waits for spring to pull the trigger Turns the windmill in my mind So it's not so cold inside In city reels of flashing lights I sleep with my head turned west at night He knows my scent, my scattered pages Notes from a diary of quiet rages Nothing, nothing, nothing And once again I carve a thriller on my skin And his little, tender killer Stares into his mirror, stiller Winks at me—it's all a game Sipping on my drops of shame Taking pieces, gram by gram Scooping sorrow with a spoon in hand But never all at once, not the whole While I bargain with my soul I wish I could peek at his private scenes His thriller's ending is the in-between Where his little killer walks the clouds Step by step, while I fall Into the snow, like a final flag Caught between the light and black To feel, for one brief minute How he loves me—buried in it And his little, tender killer Stares into his mirror, stiller Winks at me—it's all a game Sipping on my drops of shame Taking pieces, gram by gram Scooping sorrow with a spoon in hand But never all at once, not the whole While I bargain with my soul Is it love, or is it a crime Every cut rewrites the line Is it hope, or just pretend Will this thriller ever end And his little, tender killer Stares into his mirror, stiller Winks at me—it's all a game Sipping on my drops of shame Taking pieces, gram by gram Scooping sorrow with a spoon in hand But never all at once, not the whole While I bargain with my soul