These treads of death, trends of aerial creatures.
'Twas a drama queen miscalculated affair.
She thought to herself, she wouldn't make it
To her planet.
Her eyes twitched. Her smile frowned.
She ditched her stilettos inside a hole
Floating on her bourbon, not drunk,
She hadn't seen the sun.
'Twas an alien Joan of Arc impersonating
a gymnast trying to drown
within purple clouds.

These lives of velvet, made so sweet.
I'm 'bout to pull out my rotten teeth,
And feed the devil, underneath me.

His skin so white
It glowed beyond your regular -
Transparent ice blue.
It made her shiver
Beyond his coat,
Faux-fur – smelt of blood,
So disgustingly dark.



He was my devil, made from snow – so pure.
He melted at my feet,
I hadn't shed a tear.
My white devil's inside me.
He found his way.
He is wrapped around my  Intestines
So hard.  He's left his cigarette
                         butts,
                    on my liver.
                But it didn't hurt,
                     To burn
           Like they said it would.

      

I loved my devil, made from snow.
These brown angels, stealing his lines.
These brown angels, how could they.
These brown angels, sold their wings.
For three ugly wigs.
He told me once, beaming in the dark
With several fish lying around dying: "Angels
Will never be         brown."