Oh speak to me
Goddess
Angel
Who wears her blue
Halo
Around her neck
Awaken
My dollar eyed deity
And point your fingers
Full of bills
To the answer
Or the lie
Spread your
Deceitful wings
And embrace the lost
Fill them
With greed
And show them
The paper and metal
Pathway to
Sadness
For the weak
Always
Kneel to your
Valuable allure

I am French and Coloradonian.
I strongly dislike the color orange. Purple is better.
I love vanilla ice cream.
I don't like chocolate flavored anything. It tastes weird to me.
I haven't watched TV in nearly five years.
I haven't gone a day without music.
I am married to my guitar. Her name is Nora.
My best friend is Monty the Dog. He is a dog.
I am attracted to women.
I am a ****** to men.
I think red heads are ******* hot.
I like the number 50.
Facebook is evil. The NSA watches you.
I used ****** for six months.
I snorted ******* for a few months as well.
I smoke *** currently.
I smoke cigarettes currently.
If I had to give up everything, and could only keep one thing...
...I'd keep coffee.
I love Coffee.
My sister Chelsea tried to **** me. *****.
I am random, and can't keep on one subject for too long.
Ooh! Shiny things!
Poetry has kept me on this road for years.
I once wrote a song about pizza. It's probably my best song.
I don't like pizza.
I used to have long hair, but it tried to strangle me in my sleep, so I killed it.
For some stupid reason, my mother named me Abigail Hollow.
(last name excluded)
Why would she do that? I don't know.
I still have a razor flip phone. All the rage, years ago.
I haven't slept on a bed in four years.
I order McDonalds food for Monty the Dog. He's the only one who eats it...
The only girl I ever truly loved died of cancer.
My mom wants me to come home.
I don't believe in God, but I love everybody just the same.
Except Steve Buscemi. He scares me.
What do you think of me so far, my lovely fellow poets?

...that I am afraid to fall in love because...

The whispers of a thousand ladybugs
Caught in a strand of sunbeam
Became slurred
One more White Russian
Sloshed down and stirred
In the belly of that brilliant star
Gave birth to sweet summer
The seventh month, day five
Seemed silent in comparison to the night before
Where blasts became a long drone
And drowned out that roaring train
Which would (on any other night)
Rattle the blinds of this small home
We see that it is soon to be emptied
And even more quickly, after,
To be full once more
We are at the crossroads
Of interspace and matter
But those thousand tiny wings
Kick up dust off our old albums and memory boxes
And leave them hanging there
Suspended in threads of light
Such big eyes we have
All the better to dream with
Sleepwalkers, forevermore