Going out,
getting good.

All gothed-out,
glamorous.

Drop-dead.
Gore-geoous.

It's a curse.
Only
the truly beautiful at <3,
have it.

Talent.

Get it.
Dig it.
Dug it.

GOOD :)

I am just every drop of blood
the razor blades
made
me.

Drag downers
dragging themselves along
the skin surface
of my blood-flow
free way.
Wrists.

While,
I am screaming.
"I hate you" .

At the top of my black-tar
******
coated-codine lungs.

Yogurrrrr?
Help a ***** out.
&
go check on that crack pipe.
Uhhh.
I mean check the pipe for crack.

Cuz dem smokey rocks
make a bruthah go
cray-cray.

Welcome to the Goth Opera.
I'm just playing pretend,
anti-christ tonight.