Be Mine

I had broken my own heart too many times to count,

so many, in fact,

so many that this day meant nothing

I felt ice in my veins when I thought about the color red,

and even I,

even in my work for devil's advocacy,

even I never had a fondness for antonyms

so I was set in my stubbornness,

when reinventing this day,

I was never going to talk about anything but the Massacre,

and how there was glamour in its gore,

I was nostalgic for something I could not recall,

this was a deranged but authentic love,

for strangers in black and white,

so I went about my business,

and I counted my newspapers in stacks,

yellowing from their age,

like me,

and just before I called it a night,

I felt shivers,

and the hair on the back of my neck stood at attention,

just in time for me to remember I was not his Saint