It may be just a Picasso
blue period
I’m going through.

Or maybe it’s only
Winter’s darkness
not letting the clouds part
for the light of the Moon.

Why am I so sad at heart
whenever I write of you,
my woman of sorrow?

You, wrapped in your robe
like a blue, blue Picasso.

She's the only woman I know
Who could wear a sheer net shirt,
Bra and ******* exposed,
To a small town funeral
She's the only woman I know
Who flicks cigarette ash
Off of a no smoking sign
Embedded on a wire table at a wake

The girl with fluorescent eyes
She wears neon dyes
She tells me kaleidoscope lies
About being in love with me
About being love with love

Radioactive dreams
Got me bursting at the seams
Life is strange as it seems
Neon confusions
Got me coming to conclusions
I undress the illusions

Love bombed lover
You can be replaced with another
Friends who ain’t friends
We all meet unsavoury ends
I’m a victim
To a system

We roll the dice,
Loaded like guns,
Against our luck
And we stare down snake eyes
As we tell ourselves some lies
About our ******* luck

Glitz and glamour
Sugary ******* and diamonds
Hundred-dollar bills
Become hundred-dollar fines
And hundred-dollar fines
Become one-dollar bills
They say don’t eat the rich
Because one day you’ll cannibalise yourself

There is an idea
Called the American Dream
And we’re just living in the fallout
Of such contagious, radioactive dreams

According to William Shakespeare,
Poor Tom had wits
And was witless
All whilst in disguise

According to David Bowie,
Major Tom left our blue Earth
And got lost amongst the stars
Becoming the titular Space Oddity

According to Led Zeppelin
Poor Tom was the seventh son
He led a life of work and play
But killed his ***** wife

According to The Cab
Major Tom would sing along
Whilst chastising the dreamer
Or, perhaps, seeing himself in young love

According to all these men
This muse man named Poor Tom
This muse man named Major Tom
All suffered an ill fate

According to I,
Arrogant poetess,
I pose a pondering:
What if they were all the same person?

Lovers Lane is a dead-end road
She’s got a name like heaven
An angel on an Ouija board
She’s a diamond in the sky