curly hair, the nameless got those

fire-eyes and you can't look away,

you're sucking down a last

cigarette hoping for some form

of retribution. revolution,

resurrection, she's staring at

you, flecks of mascara on

damp cheeks(and she swears she

never cries.) its november and

the night is ungodly warm, and you

could be anyone from anywhere, but

she's everything to you, this strange

girlwoman who swallows the world

in a paper cup the color of her lips

and quotes the infamous

cause they always die young.