Self, Same

Oh, the same:
Blood/tears/blood,
The obvious.
I'm afraid that comfort leads me
To ignore,
Whether a crowded amphitheater
Or a solo opera,
Playing to a stand of firs.
Though there's little difference, you still can't find it,
It's still there.
It doesn't matter anyway,
But that's okay with me.

When a man who was dying and wouldn't admit it
Lived on my couch,
I was so very not there,
And it's still the same,
Still the same not there,
Raspberry crushed velvet and dark lipstick
Like it's 1996,
Sex still the same obscure horror,
Furrowed brows the same,
Still bite before a bark,
Same bored and gorgeous swollen,
Sorrow still,
Sick of self, same.