the world spins by her in a flash of neon lights,
winter weather, and cans of spray paint
tucked in the inside of her coat, hidden from the
cold wind as she listens to paramore
on the speakers of the car, dark tint
hiding her shining face from the world
as she twines her fingers with her break-her-heart
boy, the new one of the (weak) week.

she takes the flask from her pocket,
feels alcohol slide down her throat
and whisper endearment like a lover,
and stares outside the window.
the world passes like a kaleidoscope,
all glitzy strip clubs and broken dreams,
shattered innocence and depressing
poetry, trying too hard to be poetic
and graceful without actually telling a story.

the car jerksstops to a halt and she laughs
as her head hits the backseat,
colors dancing behind her eyelids.

hayley williams sings about broken fairytales
and ripping off butterfly wings,
and she settles in the comfort of leather.

someone offers her a smoke & she declines
as she tugs her hat farther down her ears
and applies more lipgloss,
touching the edge of paint- of destruction
and freedom and expression
as the tires screech, rubber flying.

she panics for a second,
thinking only of cherry and blue lights
and sirens, taking them away, but
relaxes when she realizes that the driver
is laughing and chatting with someone on the phone.

her prince finally came to save her
and the rest you can figure out.

finally the breaks squeal against the pavement
and all she can see is paint covering her fingers
and the wind in her hair,
beauty in the making.
(it's all in the beholder, isn't it?)

she hops out of the car,
slides through sleet and snow,
the ground spinning underneath
her boots. she holds onto her boyfriend,
(what's his name again? she forgets
occasionally) and keeps her fingers
twined in the front of his jacket,
twisting and sliding down the street
as the streetlights smile down at them
and all she can hear is the sound of blood
rushing in her ears.

her heart pounds that familiar beat,
a natural high. she sneaks her hand
into her coat pocket, shaking,
like she's doing something she shouldn't.
(she never really listens to anyone.)

she takes it out, huddles it under jacket,
pops the lid off. she wants to laugh
a little bit, the resemblance
to a druggie is uncanny and laughter
bubbles under her lips. she presses
them together until they bleed
and the lights hurt her eyes.

she watches the garbage trail
under her feet, old saggy
cardboard and discarded
McDonalds bags. she kicks
an empty soda can on the ground
and spins around.

she's never felt more alive.

finally she reaches her target
and tears prick the back of her eyes
and she starts with smooth sweeps
and lines, shaky letters. she draws
with her paint on the walls like
her life depends on it, anger
and frustration & pain
all leak from her pores
as she holds it in her gloved
hand, her shaky thread to
humanity in her fingertips.

she feels powerful, destroying
something so fake and creating
something real, and she spins around
under the stars like a princess.

this is (fake) prince, she thinks,
as the boy next to her bites his tongue,
concentration on his face
as he destroys and creates.

beauty can be deadly,
she thinks, but this is
quite the opposite. it's
beautiful and twisted
and oh-so-original
and she reigns queen
in her kingdom of
red&blacks&blues.

lights flicker on her new
boy toy's face, red&blue.
her breath stops in her throat
and her feet can't move.

she stumbles against the snow,
pavement smacking her hands
and blood staining her fingertips.
all her voice is stuck in her throat,
and she opens her mouth to scream.

she knows that she looks like a broken
little baby doll, shaking and pale-
skinned, bleeding blue eyes.

she throws down
the red spray paint and
it slides across
the ground and enters
a dark alley, mingles
amongst the trash cans
and hobos, destroyed
old men with nothing
to live for anymore.

all of the sudden there's
someone on her back,
pressing cuffs against
her hands and she rises
on her knees (bruised
from praying) and turns
to run, run away.

God can't help you now,
she hears someone whisper
into her brain, smirking
and sinister amongst memories
of a priest with wicked Satan
eyes and hot knife hands,
staring at the cross as she
begs and begs for forgiveness.

she watches the stars above
her head, spinning and twirling
as the moon smirks at her
with wicked grins. she doesn't
know why this is happening,
why why why tumbling in her
head like rocks in a dryer,
(you deserved it, dirtygirl)
painful and repeating.

she sits in the cop car,
hands bound tight as
opera plays on the radio.
the world is a kaleidoscope
of orange jumpsuits
and evil grins, cans of
spray paint spinning
towards the alley way.

keep your feet on the ground
when your head's in the clouds.

an: this is inspired by paramore, (song used is 'brick by boring brick') and my frustration of the fact that most of the poetry on this site is beautiful and graceful but it runs in circles with long, drawn out descriptions and confusing words that run in circles.