The Monster

It's the monster that I am.
Born from demon not from woman.
Smoke my cigarette, let the burlesque show roll on.
Endangering the soul, fill it up with lies.
It's the monster that I am.
Standing nude before another.
The trade your good Lord built me for.
High class calls it gigolo, I'm just an everyday whore.

It's the monster that I am.
List your desires, pay no mind.
I'll keep going and going.
The show never stops.
You can keep the money when you're done. 
Can you please just hold me?
Yes, hold the monster that I am.

Always After

All of us must fall.

Crumble off the masterpiece we painted

in pastel blues and reds and black. Always black.

Faded like the love you preached

yet couldn't muster.

Holding on to what could have been,

not one single tangible fact.

Just your lying eyes and all we made

on all those blackened nights, lighting the skies with your eyes.

When your body knelt and prayed for me,

calling me to lay in your hellish bed.

A body burning in the sin of all the 

men that took you, then and after. Always after.

Fading in the Distance

If he believed in something, 

it was in the pain of her goodbye.

He knew no greater truth

then the sound of her footfalls

fading in the distance.

As time made all else disappear,

he stood right there, at that corner.

Grasping for the sight of a set of eyes

that could never see him for the man he was.

copyright 2015 salvador cordova

No Good Stories Here

No.

There are no good stories here.

No rainbows, no smiles.

No gold, no laughter.

No love, no family.

No good stories here.

We have blacked out windows.

And finished lives.

We have broken hearts and broken souls.

We are the ones at the gates,

Collecting bloody tolls.

We have your mother, 

Sprawled out on the floor.

You can have her for the price

Or she stays.

You don't ever come here again.

copyright 2015 salvador cordova

Lying Wetly Next to Her

No matter what I do, I can't get clean of you.

Yea, you carried in the rope, hanging like fruit that dying hope.

Drifting through flowers crushed by soul less feet.

Keeping desire close to the mud, afar from the heart.

Lying wetly next to her in Estancia.

Take me higher, higher, tighter as I come down, 

From the addiction of you.

It's down to me and the dead one.

Deadened like the steel in her heart.

I walk through the fire, singeing and meat falling off.

Alone and forever forgotten. I burn alone.

The visions don't stop, the loving don't end.

The effigy brings nothing, but more.

copyright 2015 salvador cordova

Note on the Dirty Napkin

Just a tired old man, of thirty two.

Warm whiskey in every sip, hugging something

that's long gone.

The note on the dirty napkin she left said

"Why'd you even come back?

You knew I loved him the day we met."

The wind howls all her lies, time and again.

He takes another drink,

Continuing his dance at the edge of the flames.

Knowing he's done been burned.

It's that damn cold that gets him, moving slower, hurting longer.

His mind manufactures warmer weather down in Mexico.

That snow outside his door don't melt with a heart as cold as hers.

All those lies and a gutted life.

And another drink, and another, and another.

His fooled heart just can't thaw this one out.

He stumbles through the snow.

Filled with thoughts of a woman who loved the words letting go.

His mind captures her eyes as he sleeps in the unforgiving cold.

Wishing he could dream, but all he sees is that marooned smile.

copyright 2015 salvador cordova

I don't need to do that anymore

I hear my name on that killing floor,

Hand in hand with a Mexican whore.

Chop the bumps in a bathroom stall,

Take that stylish drink, and screw them all.

The things I do, you can't explain.

As your dress falls, all you'll do

is ask for more and I'll forget your name.

I see my reflection, a thousand times,

On that disco ball.

But I don't see you.

I don't need to do that anymore.

copyright 2015 salvador cordova

Mud on a Trail

At times, life is not enough.

To touch, feel, even breathe....Lack.

All these lack.

Lack in filling a man.

Lack in igniting.

Sparking a joy seen in pictures.

There is romance in believing our

fates are written in blood.

But look back, check the footprints.

Our fates are written in mud.

The mud of the dead, the murdered love

and the aborted days we feared to wake to.

Just mud on a trail.

copyright 2015 salvador cordova

Whiskey Mornings

Whiskey Mornings

Sunlight crashes in,

My eyes snap open.

Guess they were hopin’

You’d be here with me.

Just another whiskey mornin’,

Just another daybreak without your touch.

Just another day without your love.

All I got is this whiskey bottle to hold.

The years have gone by

And my heart can’t say goodbye.

My hands still long to hold you.

Can’t get used to –

These whiskey mornings without you.

I wish I could undo all the wrong.

To have you here with me,

But like a dog without a bone

Alone is how I’ll be.

Wishing

Do you wish it was me?
When you wake in your bed.
When he kisses your neck.
When he turns out the lights.
I wish I could, I wish I could.
Come on down, take me out.
We're owed a good night.
Like a good dog, put me down, put me down.
Just take off your clothes
and get in my bed.
I wish you would, would you?
There's sweat on my fingers
Love in my hands.
Let me turn out the lights,
Let me love you tonight.
Do you wish it was me?