ringlets of fragile surrenders swing from the pendent on your neck,
my pleads grazing your streetlamp lipstick with the same feel of diffident
mediocrities of lackluster promises.
the bruises are catching up with your brightside kisses, your lips sucking on
cigarettes like vile pleasantries as the profanity of your actions worm up on
your chest, the yellow of his teeth glued to your urgency.
your eyes split open with infamy, trice a hit and a little less shame,
laughter coiling up into spray paint smiles. these streets crackle with
ignominy, bleeding down with hopelessness and sinister snarls.
he'll hand you a twenty and you'll moan with a bible between your
legs, begging smoked-throat for clarity, hands wrapped around a forest
of vacant questions and shrewed beauty.
your mouth is lost in the interior of your denial, tongue shot under the
tender burn of his bones, manicures of bandages wrapped around your
shallowness drunk in a pond of melodramatic youth.
you're oozing black with mistakes through the diamond holes of confession
and i'm scarring on the cabaret of your isolation, tears swelling up inside
"if everyone's a liar, then why do you still believe?" dress down darling, it's
the same life and the same fuck and i'm tired of making you feel beautiful if
you never remember.
pen name change and this could probably be considered a rewrite. yes, i know this doesn't make sense. my inspiration never made much sense:
"There's no sense in going up if you can't get back down, is there? No sense in going down if you can't get back up, either. You'll never think of the right riddles and jokes. You'll never make me laugh, Mikey. You've all forgotten how to turn your screams upside-down. Beep-beep, Mikey, what do you say? Remember the bird? Nothing but a sparrow, but say-hey! it was a lulu, wasn't it? Big as a barn, big as one of those silly Japanese movie monsters that use to scare you when you were a little kid. The day when you knew how to turn that bird from your door are gone forever. Believe it, Mikey. If you know how to use your head, you'll get out of here, out of Derry, right now. If you don't know how to use it, it'll end up just like this one here. Today's guidepost along the great road of life is use it before you lose it, my good man."
—It, page 705.