"Awake is the new asleep," Girlrevolution said when the blue-eyed boy from the band asked. "And dying is the new me." She zipped him into his leather and didn't stay much longer. "You and I, we're gonna live forever."
She smoked until her plastic green eyes got so shiny and soft they fell right out onto the carpet and scattered in with the butterslick popcorn and the skag and the stale Arcadian dreams. It took her nearly an hour to clean the ash and disappointment off the pieces and tape them back together but they hurt less in her head now than they ever did. She asked the sugar plum fairy isn't it hard, staying sewn into your bones all the time because hers just didn't fit under the skin but the fairy would only repeat,
"Is she more beautiful? Is she more beautiful than me?"
The fairy knew that the problem with the apple tree junkie and his labyrinth eyes was that he's awfully gentle with his needles, yes, he is so musically gentle- her veins lean towards him to make things easier, they say
Why not? It's not like you ever say no, you've been an idiot for their ragamuffin secrets and their Artful Dodger blues since day two and his eyes are brown so softly that it would be pointless to resist.
The brown-eyed boy asks Girlrevolution for a cigarette and she points at a spot above her celluloid head. He mistook the Lucky Strikes on leaves for mistletoe and made her remember his take time rhymes and perfect crimes in a way that she had been trying to forget; forget like the world inside the white fence with the creeping green stems and the guitars and the patio furniture. The sugar plum fairy that night watched as the brown-eyed boy and the pink moon talked like sisters in his writhing palisade, he told the moon, Mr. Drake sir everyone knows rock and roll is the only thing left to die for and it's almost time-
I want you to come on now and take it, take another little piece of my heart, now, darling, the satellite told the blue-eyed boy who liked to think he was at home in the Albion fairgrounds where cigarettes grow on trees and every bench is made of denim. The boy wanted to tell the rocket ship and he wanted to tell Girlrevolution, everybody knows rock and roll is the only thing left to live for and I'm sick of living for dying tonight,