A common skin disease is what you've become to me,
cigarette butts and empty Dixie cups rimmed with dry gin decorate my floor,
we've spent too much time causing each others skin rashes,
rolling around skin to skin whispering lustless words that bore,
your words pierce my ear like a wave crashes,
your smoke rings stain my mute roof with Rorschach inkblot tests,
you say it's your tribute to Paul Cézanne,
I sip from the bottle and casually protest,
the blots, if art at all, would be of painter Susanne,
We both laugh,
time seems to slip back to a new time,
when you and I would spend hours talking about the discrepancies of Arthur Nersesian's New York,
versus the one we lived in for five years,
We were never under the thumb of yuppie greed,
just under lustful love and libido that never quits,
but those memories fade,
as the nagging in my stomach overcomes me,
my liver hates to rude by intruding,
he gives me a squeeze,
he's in need you know,
anytime you near it seems I need a drink.
And beer won't do,
only the hard stuff is enough to subdue the ache,
I'd stick a needle in my arm if needles didn't make me so queasy.
My mother says drinking will kill me,
But then what about you?
My lung let out a cough,
Black smoke rolls from between my blue lips,
Can't drink without a smoke,
I open the pack and damn,
I can see the last cigarette smoldering in your hand,
as you ash on my linen-less bed,
A common skin disease is all you are to me,
I've been in this hell too too long.
And the fires dying down.
I think I'll just lay back on the bed and close my eyes,
rewind time to when I met you,
you common skin disease,
and I'll peel you right off and throw you down the drain,
and you'll spin around and around,
I hope that you will see my face,
and the big wide grin,
cause I'll be free of you,
and if I'm free of you,
then I'm free of the smokes and booze,
But then I wonder what would I do?
