Mama,
I'm growing horns.
I speak in smoke,
it fogs the retinas of
every green-eyed girl
with something to lose.

Mama,
my smile grows sharper.
I relish in rolling eyes,
discovering the enemy gene,
shooting the **** with the ******,
plotting revenge on every Shiva.

Mama,
deny my black irises and hungry crystal hands.
I'm looking for grey leaves to crush,
I'm looking for heathen hymns to memorize,
tasting bleak humanity with each handshake,
and half-*** suicide attempt.

Mama,
in kaleidoscope memories you will find me.
Distort your love in retrospect,
sell my stories to distant, dusty cousins,
lie until i had a heyday,
but don't waste a prayer or a wish upon me.