**** and chips
buried in the bass-line
All shaken heads tossed
listening to the misadventures of a ****-talker
Her lips taught and dry
sporting a second skin of ripped denim
Thick eyelashes caked in spiderwebs
Hustling on doc martens
crunching teeth beneath toes
Ankles taught with leather
A pretty ***** touched
like flowers dipped in chalk
stuck in choke it down memories
Quietly screaming
     look for me

Old Norn laughing slips a brand new thread
against a scissor blade I present my throat
Goodbye just follow the blood trail
Soon I will be warm deaf to the tone
Of your voice echoing in dark chambers
Blind no longer beguiled
By the pale white flesh of your shoulders