the rollercoaster of life.
Ups.
Downs.
Loopty loops.
Everyone has a different Insane ride.
Some start to forget that, and theirs starts to do nothing but go down.
Forgettin it ever went up. Takin the easiest path possible.
loopty loops become straight. The ups are just a cliff, "the easy way OUT"
that plunges to a demise that soon evolves to the only desire to these poor souls seek.

Eventually every soul-ride gets to a point of reconstrustion.
Some can do it alone.
some Have others to help them.

Others are left with the easy way out.
never having the courage to tell themselves what a great ride it could be someday.
never having someone to even be a helping hand with rebuilding.

Every coaster has a chance to be great.
just depends on the rider.
if they cant MAKE it an amazing coaster, it will be a GREAT ride.

So this is where we are:
Another empty bottle, another broken heart, another ******* ugly scar.
If only scars could tell stories-
Mine would write a ******* novel.
The bottle and this broken heart are one in the same.
They both had a label on the front trying to convince the world that they were something different,
But you used them up so quickly it's no wonder you couldn't taste.
You put me to waste and did so with such haste.
I hope you paced yourself, because now I'm out the door.
And it's weird-
There's a world out here-
With people, and cars, birds and trees- more than you and me.
I never knew there was a world outside of your touch,
Your embrace,
Your eyes.
But this world is cold and dark;
This world is strange.
Now I know that one thing's clear-
It's darker an colder in your arms than it is right here.
Here, my dear, is quiet and weird.
It is baffling to see the clouds so white
Or the sky so blue.
It's weird to see the world not revolving around... you.
So I've got this broken bottle-
I'll take it to this scar.
I want to see inside.
I want to see what I broken heart looks like- more than just a feeling,
Like how I saw the outside world for the first time just today.
I want blood to pour from this scar, no, this souvenir-
To fill another empty bottle,
So I can drink my sweet poison once again.
Drink my sweet poison once again!
AGAIN!
I swear I've lived this scene before.
Is my life a revolving door?
Is there no way out?
Or is there no way in-
No door for a savior to run through;
No savior to bare a cape,
No savior to sport a flashy name or spew lies to ****** ears.
Oh wait, I meant victim, not ******.
Victim.
It's not the first time around, remember?
Now that's a label I could wear!
You took my innocence in every way possible,
But is it possible
That I'll end up back for more?
This deja vu, this loopty loop-
Is this the first or the last of my being through with you?
Whichever it is, I know how it will end,
Because this is just where we are:
Another empty bottle, another broken heart, another ******* ugly scar...
Except this time, they all belong to you.

Eating the chocolate bunny
staring at her own bare wiggly rainbow toes
she sat on the toilet with a red cherry lipstick mouth
humming television jingles about nothing
but ketchup-logged White Castle bacon cheese burgers
and amino acids as she called in imaginary air strikes
on toy cycloptic pigmies who  lived in an aqua blue rubber tub on the bathroom floor by her feet  filled with toilet paper rolls, Vaseline, face cream a folded rubber enema bag and a half empty bottle of Luxardo Cherry so she could take a swig when ever the stars moved her.

She swung her hips, like a ****** as if in the substrate of disco hell
wearing a cheap red party dress only to be forced down on her knees to take it hard and walloped until cross-eyed, frothy mouthed,  and grinning
at brawly tattooed men that stank of whiskey
terrorizing her with titillating thrills
as if her body were their fun house and amusement park
of loopty loops and Ferris wheels

All make believe of course
in that little damp cubby hole fantasy of sweet curves and wet holes marked Venus-dreamscape-come-****-me-land