Oily fingers the she-beast moans. 
She wanted those Saturday nights
Watching old reruns of cow and chicken. 
She never got there.
She only sank deeper into
Her petals. 
The Past
1) is of conquest
Experiences well made
She
Still hasn't kissed a boy
But she also 
Hasnt felt herself. 
2) it quenched you to know
How much
We can **** up in one 
Moment in time. 
3) her first favorite band
Was on a twilight soundtrack
4) ready to present herself
To the first naked man
She had seen
In a long time
She opens her robe
And uncovers all of her lies.

TOMORROW
She will wake up in love 
The first time. 
The past is a liar 
The past is
A secret
Fear. 
   The future is an unbearable truth. 
Not the eyes of mothers,
Steady hands of fathers
Nor the she-beast
Can complete the feat. 
Mass suicide sways oceans 
Beside the globe. 
The inevitable 
Shakes it's ******* on
National television
Through
Nuclear war and bitter missionary men. 
The future is losing circulation 
As the she-beast welcomes a man
Into her home
The future is like her
Well labeled. 
The future is a *****. 
Saturday nights blot at her itchy flesh. 
She is finally ready to get up.