Despite being alive 26 years--
I didn't start dancing until last year.

Sure, I'd been to my fair share
of blackout tequila & whisky parties at university
or went on many an adventure
sneaking into movie theaters
with a fellow once considered a Friend,
but part of me knew the truth--
these were not my dances.

The endless whisky bottle songs
first sang to me by dear 'ol pops
would serenade my subconscious,
a kind of absurd fuel pushing me
through a place where something felt like a picture in frame
just slightly askew.

Even the *** felt white-toast bland.
Might as well of crammed McDonalds into my mouth
saving much emotional confusion, & a little cash.

I lived vicariously through this Friend;
a maudlin flame who kept drowning
in his own sticky tar lovesick abyss
anytime he met a woman.
He was a writer,
he stopped going to university.
I  was too terrified to do so,
but subconsciously that is what I craved,
hence the thirsty Thursdays and wine down Wednesdays.

I didn't start living until last year
because the thought of financial security
was installed into my self by the parents.
Figured I was doing this advertising thing
as a way to write so I could write what I want as a part-time hobby,
like stamps.  

But my artist's heart kept beating
a 5/4 jazz rhythm in my body.
With the help of a wondrous doe-eyed pixie gypsy,
I learned to dance with it.
Had to empty my pockets
of friends and flasks
& open my mind to the time
of the cosmos
& dance.

Cigarette to her cherry chap stick coated lips again.
She keeps on smoking them saying she doesn't care if she dies, yet she's discreetly afraid of death.
She knows she should probably get off her *** and get a job, but she'd rather listen to the same song over and over and day dream about ******
scenarios.

She'd rather stay up late at night writing and wake up at 3, majority of her day already wasted. Downing coffee and telling herself that she'd wake up
early one day to greet the sun and admire it's beauty but reality devoured her, and she's under her sheets sleeping with her breast pressed against
her cream colored silk sheets.
She fell asleep watching asmr videos, too much of a baby to try astral projection and her window is wide open, bugs with wings flying in her room but yet she doesn't care, she likes the feeling of the cold wind on her legs.
Oh, how she wishes she were in a field somewhere, holding hands with another male or a female that loves her back as much as she loves them. She wishes that whoever loves her would lift up her skirt and lick their fingers after they venture down her legs and inside the blooming flower so many individuals have been trying to deflower.

Rolling naked in the grass, smiling, laughing.
She wants to look deep into someones eyes, not uttering a word, just in silence smiling. She wants to tuck their hair behind their ear, she wants to feel the heat of another person up against her, or the simple pads of anothers fingers cupping her breast. She longs for someone to touch her, yet she's
afraid of being touched. She's afraid of men, she's afraid of many things.

Her picky self thinks she see's the good in people yet they expose their true
colors she were too blind to see. She's so naive. Letting her thoughts unravel her like a Christmas ribbon, placing acid tabs under her tongue, smoking more ****, and drinking too much.
Anything to numb the fact that the ones she desire don't desire her, and the ones that want her she acknowledges, but simply picks up with the pile of clothes on her floor and shoves them in her drawers she keeps telling herself that she'd sort out.
An unorganized, mess.
Her room, her life. Everything.

(just cross out the non applicable)

Helen was
a great chick/a stupid *****/my best friend

Her last words were
**** this ****/is that Saturn?/is this the end?

She always made me
toast for dinner/creeped out/laugh until I peed

She reminded me of
rain showers in sunshine/Chuckys bride/a most persistent ****

She always thought of
others first/her own miserable hide/ Wine

She devoted herself to
Family/Debauchery/Wine

She will know I'm here today because I
had the day off/wanted to make sure she's dead/want to go with her

She will probably be ******* if I
cry/stabbed her again/kissed her

She will know who
laughed at the sad bits/ drank the holy water/climbed into her casket

She will be thrilled if
tissues are unused/no one gropes her Husband/she fits in a Handbasket