You spoke to me in a dream,
voice like honey,
"The angels won't save someone with so much devil in them."
Nights of bumming cigarettes
off men too old, who should know better.
Welcoming the darkest of us with a thin smile,
Lost yourself in poker chips,
another wager on the poker table.
Some middle aged man's fantasy-
legs spread like Russian roulette,
who would go with you?
Appealing the sin inside of your bones,
you locked your demons in a box.
It's not your fault,
you were murdered.
you were chosen-
this world tends to expire on
a girl with an imbalance of hedonism & an angelic temperament.
Beauty can lead us to truly dangerous places;
those veins belong to you,
but BOB wants to bury himself underneath your skin.
Seashells mixed with bits of sand
clung to your ocean blue skin,
your lips looked apologetic.
"I'm sorry I wasn't myself"
- the town's patron saint
clouds shine down
on your still frame,
like a movie scene-
but you've always been a fan of snow
snowflakes touch your nose
in a light dust of blow.
Did you ever really live?
Or had you already been a ghost?
Of who they all had come to love and adore.
Expressing adoration for the Twin Peaks character, Laura Palmer.