Fuck the system. Fuck god. Fuck people. Fuck everything.
I’m so full of teenage angst and alcoholic beverages that I could barf.
I’m so full of shit that i’v become transparent.
Like those weird sugar based rolling papers.
Like my windows which give the neighbors insight on my life,
and my naked body, fuck curtains.
Peeping tom across the street had a lucky day, and I had a pretty girl over.
A woman who my mother knows
Came in and took off all her clothes.
Said I, not being very old,
‘By golly gosh, you must be cold!’
‘No, no!’ she cried. ‘Indeed I’m not!
I’m feeling devilishly hot!’
Pick me, like a patch of pickled watermelons in the hot mid-western sunshine.
Pick me up.
Off the ground, pushed about by the bottoms of worn shoes.
New Yorkers hate the fuzz and disobey traffic laws.
Run my rubbery skin over with their illegally parked cars.
Tire track tattoos, and sweet tea spiked with moonshine.
This is how I will spend forever without you.
Stuck in the maze that is Greenwich Village streets.
Maybe it’s the sky.
Or perhaps the lack of zinc in my diet.
But I know its going to rain soon.
And keep me soggy for the rest of the day.
I hate having to collect my brain juices.
Early in the morning.
While Olivia is locked away in Vienna, away from cigarettes and pooop.
In the land of toilet platforms.
How much longer shall sleepless nights prevent function.
And kinship stray so far away from my familiar doorstep.
Dear pretty lady with the long brown hair.
I wanted to let you know.
That I like the way you bleed.
The way you melt into the spaces between my toes.
I want to shoot your sentiment, into my skull.
It will only take one bullet.
So grind yourself against my skin.
Until you turn to powder.
And send me into oblivion.
Never ending rolls of bubbles. And troubles.
Never stop until we start seeing doubbles.
Was this a shameful waste. I digress.
I am a mess.
-: Born to two hopeful hermits, she chooses to forget the terrifying sex...
Born to two hopeful hermits, she chooses to forget the terrifying sex that once rattled her teeth.
The birds in her dreams pluck love from her conscious with their beaks and leave it bundled up at the foot of her mattress. In the morning she puts it on the shelf with the other loves from other…
Base By: Jahrenesis