she's pushing bullets down her throat, her mouth swirling with suicide and the sunset shimmers around her neck like a pendent, or a rosary. i kiss the scars curved around her hips, unexplainable and random and

i say she's beautiful but,
you, you already broke.

author's note: i guess i really can't stop, just something for something, for someone.
deleted lines: she tells me stories of wonderland, her lips caked white with cocaine and washington heights and i'm hearing sirens and gunshots and happily ever afters raw lips parted like: “will you tell me another, another—” and: you, you're just waiting to laugh in my face.