.gingerbread.
and oh. oh. "look at you," he said
"my little Nancy Rotten
romantic gingerbread
only 86 pounds and going all the way down
in blue jeans and a Hot Topic t-shirt
clutching a Hello Kitty plushie
hoping the ink from your fake tattoo
doesn't stain the poem written on your palm
because, you know
rewording Ginsberg always makes you original
and reciting punk rock mannifestos
is always a sign of intelligence."
and i just laughed and danced away,
amused that he had used the word "mannifesto,"
and startled to find
that he was right.
- credit -
Dear Cheryl....
you smile
and i could swear god designed the ocean
from your eyes
.
.blur.
she's being honest for once
when she says she doesn't mind being another
product-of-a-broken-home-out-of-control-teen-slut
stastic
of a generation as fucked up as the last,
because insensibility
is so much better
than how she used to be,
pushed too.far.back.
with razor blades and swallowed suicide,
when daddy's drunk and
mommy blames the bruises
on her "smart mouth"
but it doesn't matter because
she still can't remember
where the truth started
and the daydreams end
just that there's too many condoms in her purse
and he already "did" her anyway, so let's just be friends
(again)
while the cigarette smoke blurs her out of the pictures
and all her screams lose themselves
in the last empty bottle of whiskey
that just hit the floor
i wanna be your marilyn monroe
& you can be my romeo
we'll romance & o v e r d o s e
on barbituates & love
we'll be our own poison
& when we're ghosts
we'll hold hands & sing
lalalalalala
i wanna be your marilyn monroe
& you can be my joe dimaggio
we'll be american icons
living in furs, penthouses & s i n
you'll defend my nude scenes
when i defend your anger management
with bruises on my wrists & blood on our lips
we'll be our sweetest downfall
when we hold hands & sing
lalalalalalala
- credit -