antagonized, sullen, and unshakeable,
I rest under the shade of a heavy tree,
a crepuscular creature who lives most
at edged breaks of sun, dusk and dawn

my stamina grows in strength, as does my patience and durability,
but I know my insatiable pursuits will fade, or they'll be yielding;
if I want things, I will get them, I will have them, and they are mine

I look over, past the horizontal thing, "edge"
with all the weariness of a battle-scarred lion,
silver-striped with the accumulated congealed
****** flesh of foes under my scuttling claws
that scamper down the ridges of the slower,
quieter animals that I have singled out as mine,
until I am done with games and rip out spines

I am not long in tooth, but I am experienced enough,
to the point, where I do not want to fight very long
for what I have earned, and for what is entitled to me,
and if I must fight long, afterwards, I am vindictive

I look at the horizon, with all the prowess possessed
in my being, in my breeding, ingrained in my bones
I have a greater strength than I have even begun to
even actualize, and I just only started flexing, slowly

I am greedy for the world, every bad beast and cur,
with marrow in their bones, I wish to tussle with,
I will be ready for you, I await you with a sly grin,
come call me at home, for I will be biding, till then

Acrid stenches of contrived action
stain his sloppy, uneven speeches

gallantry is unnerving, obnoxious
to me, even in the grandest favors.

I sniff with all my offended senses.
To a bloodhound nose, it's cloying.

He smells like he's trying too hard,
trying too hard smells sour, biting.

I prefer challenges from a cunning,
a silver-tongued fox. Let me chase.

Subtle while retaining the ability to
remain brazen, aye, there's the rub.

Chomping at the bit, the overeager
and easily pleased are not my kind,

the authentic and untamed always
give me more rise than an easy bait.

my lungs hurt from the ashed bowl
this **** is purple, what a novelty
too bad it's as dry and not crystal-y

shakeshakeshakeshakeshakeshake

I wish I didn't have a ugly glass pipe
but it'd seem silly to invest in a ****

I don't like your dog, he smells.
You're twenty-one.
You can't take care of your dog.
What if they eat something bad?

You were stupid to get a dog.

I  barely have the munchies
let's make something cheesy.

I can't even get high anymore.

It's boring.

I don't like that it doesn't do anything in means I have to cut back or something
or I have to get into it more, which costs money that I don't have, on things that
I don't really need.

Smoking should not be a hobby, it's barely an interest.
It's just like a background noise, like your noisy dog.

But I need to remember, in all of this,
that if I'm bored, I'm just being boring

old makeup spilled on my floor
***** clothes strewn on my floor

You can hardly see the carpet for all the clothes carelessly being trodden on.

Blue holiday lights are strung around the mirror.

I am watching Andy Warhol eating a hamburger
I am watching Andy Warhol eating a hamburger
on a new, thousand dollar laptop, slick-as-a-whistle, paid with a magnetic swipe.

For the past six months,
I have had less than four hundred $
combined in checking and savings,
and that number dwindles by the day.

I have no groceries,
but I've got fistfuls of orange prescription bottles,
and I was handing pills out like treats and candy.

(but they are needed, much and every day)

Where did all these bills come from?
Money is paper, but it means things.
Suddenly, it costs money to breathe.

Eating? Oh pshaw, that costs money, time, and the store's six blocks away.
We can subside on government cheese, beans, and the fiery licks of whiskey.

I pout on my throne of ***** cotton, thinking
"I get what I ask for, when I ask, and it always comes--at a price!" I sigh.

It's always over a hundred dollars more than I could spare
and brings bad luck, moreso than a couple broken mirrors would,
smashed over a the front of your mother's blackest cat.

"Quick! Let's do designer drugs with the paltry change given by our parents, given as allowance!
I wouldn't feel like I wasn't nothing, nothing at all," I say, batting my eyelashes, "Wouldn't they feel proud of our feelings of entitlement to the greater things in life and consciously responsible adult-like decisions?"

I crack open my father's checking account with that swipe of a magnetic strip,
it makes me seem responsible when he sees I just use it for pills and foodstuff.

(I prove I love him, and he loves me in this way)

Now, together, we will buy strawberries with his money, until our lips are pink.
They must be four dollars, at the very least, then we eat like the bourgeoisie (!)

I kiss the cheeks of my reflection in the bathroom
"Como ca va, darling? Comme si comme sa. . ."
I lick my lips, put on red lipstick and then blot,
tousling my hair, tipsy, as I touch up my face by
licking the tips of eyeliner up like a cat's little tail,
the ends of eyes, coated with eyeliner as black as
my tightest velvet pants and dark, dark heart.

We go together. You and me.

Lying on the floor, holding hands, in vinyl bliss
listening to the crooning of sweet Francoise Hardy,
and the addictions of the near-dead soul of Lou Reed

You should move to a big city
and I'll come call, prepaid, with
a voice that is thick and ripped,
from expensive French cigarettes
chattering of sugar-white beaches
as I cross the seas all on a plane,
burning money all along the way
all the while drunk on red wine,
twirling my fingers around, with
bags under eyes, a little anemic

(I think it adds to the glamour)

We will go out to a dimly lit place
We will go out dancing then after

I will put on dab perfume under my ears and on my wrists,
I will wear black tights for pants, but first, do a little *******
and you will fasten the clasp on my silver necklace tonight,
while I smoke, before helping me put on my favorite fur

And we will go see Andy, at the factory
I hear he's doing something
with that Basquiat fellow (!)

I will go follow false luxuries, come with me.
I will gamble with you in Monte Carlo or Las Vegas,

just as long as you pay my rent at $695 per month,
and keep pretending,
until I die, or overdose, or something.

one of those mornings
where I want to lay on the floor with my legs in the air
where I want to smoke cigarettes as skinny as arms
where I want to wear dark sunglasses that spell out

C-O-O-L C-A-T

and these shades would allow me to be callous
and my apathy and I could make snide remarks

about you,
you little ******

Boy, I hope you can smell my contempt over there.
You deserve it. But I don't really care anymore.

I don't dislike many people, but if I could do it,

I would tell you that I look upon your character
with the same adoration that I would hold for a
parasite-infested rotting mountain of rat feces.

Which is to say not a lot.
Which is to say I dislike you.

It's just one of those mornings,
where I want to stop knowing you, and wish you wouldn't know me.
where I want to do something, but you see, I can't feel a thing, for you.

I have nothing for you, really,
I am fresh out of ***** to give.

I don't regret anything since I learned a great deal.

I wouldn't say I was heartbroken, just exasperated
by your contrived and un-authentic *******-ery.

I am better than you. I put on my darkest shades,
I laugh when I remember that this sunny morning.

I walk the fine lines
between
by choice
more often
than I really should

it's more enjoyable
than being strictly defined
by all these -isms

and there's a bonus
of having the threat
of extrem-ism
hanging over your head

the world is grey
my moral compass
is questionable/ing
and wavering

black and white
how boring is that?

I am lucky to be able
to afford more than
two colors

sugared fingers, the smell of Chanel
and I am flushed on red berry wine

and the charms of someone, dear,
who I would like to call "Valentine"

la vie en la rose
this red stains lips pink and
I see in pink, everything around me

as I dip my nose to my wrists, inhaling

Sicilian oranges, Calabrian bergamo
Indonesian patchouli, Haitian vetiver
Bourbon vanilla andd white musk

I giggle coquettishly and I am blushing,

For these sweet nothings
mean very much to me