lost your lucky coin
to a wishing well,
hell if I know
why it was praying
in my pocket.

every cold December
I remember
weary words,
"I just want
what I can't have,
a miracle,"
fingers running
over flattened copper.

I gave to her a lady ***** demise,
her bullet was ironically engraved
with names and words she felt too lame to say.
I chopped her limbs in ratio per lies
and so her blood set sunset into skies,
then scattered pieces far to mountain caves
where none will seek to travel but the brave-
       so blame the social scene, should she uprise.
And all the ghosts are standing to their feet,
there is no room for martyrs at this dance.
Renewed ambition tastes so ******* sweet;
I switched it up, though she had made her stance
and she could once have made my ruse complete
       but bloodstains say she didn't stand a chance.