boneyard of pin-up dolls


it was an austere august afternoon when

i found your ghost at someone's funeral

and the burnt juniper leaves waltzed

with the mid-april wind to the

sound of broken glass

as you walked by


you were like a train wreck sunset

that died from a premeditated accident

and i was drawn to you like a

blue bottle fly to a flower

with a strong scent


you were dangerous and i was curious

and together we gave birth to tragedy,

curled in the passenger's seat and

tangled in each other's arms

inside my jeep


you taught me how to smoke cigarettes properly

until our throats would bleed as we hid in

the backyard, got drunk and composed

lyrics with my older brother's acoustic


they called me a misfit but i preferred being original

rather than become another statistic

because i was just a victim of a broken home

and unusual disorders my therapist diagnosed me in


but just like a schizophrenic seraph trapped in chains,

you injected too much heroin in my veins

and now i am merely a corpse in your

boneyard of pin-up dolls