her first love was mary jane
she would've loved me, too,
if i was easy to wrap up,
put in her mouth and swallow
if i could make her shiver
in the warm, Florida sun
and sweat in the
cold decembrist moon
if i could cause the coughs
Within her swallow lungs
The dreams she clung too so desperately
I am not easy to roll up
…
his first love was ******
he wanted me too, too much
i didn’t want to be the blood
in his veins, the life
when ****** ***** the life
out of you, you **** the life
out of it, the weekends that
it wished for:
become empty syringes
on the floors of
cheap motels and
Honda Civics.
…
his first love was codeine
i want to float too, i say
you cannot, he says
i sink into the abyss i create
i used to have so many colors, i say
no response, he fades away, the
colors of the night, the reds,
are all i start to know
he said to **** the sadness out
of naive girls they have to lose their skin
codeine, codeine, codeine–my God,
was all he ever said
…
my first love was Dead
no sympathy, no remorse, no hearse
the urn was blue, the ashes gray as cigarette ash
the preacher sighs, again
it could’ve been you, he says
**** right, it could’ve been me;
in that urn, it could’ve been me
my first love is Dead