miles away.

well I was plagued
and pale and panicky,
ripped up torn pages of a
glamor **** magazine,
coco lips pressed to
the cool floor
beneath the hoard

- lovely.

lowly lows loathing
show boats & warships.
flicked a spittle
writer ribbon atop
white middle fingertips
& said,

'praise the passive lord, pretty.'
'yes of course, of course.'                                  
'you are forever, ever golden.'

(oh & then some.)

such a fearless feeling
breathing like new
free fare blaring lights thru
iron clad glass and
such as life, the knifey night
comes to pass, short & sweet;
shock treatment, therapy.

shot right thru me.

weak need.
stripped bare and bored
I stare and mourn
& I laugh.

bliss
wrapped in magic,
you poor perfect *******.


I would just
hate
to be you right now.