Stalker's convertible

He drives the 
convertible
by her house

clinging to a
memory
she no longer
holds

Oxies
and a bunch
of other
shit

chain
him
from 
reality

taking

is justified
to a
selfish
belief
that self
is primary

and others
are just
fools
a long
for the
ride

drown your
ears
to a metaphor
constructed
from
a sheet
of music
stained
with
cheap
bourbon
and nervously
written

The con
was your
Symphonic Masterpiece
yet it was created
between
"black outs"

never taken 
seriously
like the 
cheesy 
ink
that you
write

Love and Rockets
is the imprint
of your hand
leaving the 
stalker to drive
away
thinking 
he was not 
noticed
into the fields
of Heather