I'm a naughty bad *****
Covered in lacy laughter and fingertips
I hate laying on the operating table.

I'd rather rub my face against a violin
As it whimpered and crooned
All the times I rode on the tour guide bus
Wished for dreams to come true.

But clouds and pixie dust
I consume and cough them up
As liquids run down my limbs
Longing whiteness
Perfection.

I can't wait for an email
A commercial, a cash register
To go bing bang ****
I haven't been able to make myself write
In so long.

I don't know if its because whistles of self loathing
Secure and secretly
RING RING RING
Wrong number, this has gotta be the wrong number
I'm not sure what I want
I'm not sure who you are
I just want to ink my tongue.

Summer in the concrete jungle
Everyone claims "OH! I LOVE CHICAGO!"
Dollar signs and fleeting moments pass by me
Numb to it all, weight on my back
Soak it up
No man to really call my name
No, not right now.

A coffee shop, it all started in.
Green eyes, leaves, get that paper
Skin so ******.
So ******.