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

.