he wants the ballerina in the music box
to spin around for him
and flutter her eyelashes
not the dancer in his bed
prêt à ramper dans ses bras
couples costume idea
Sunk to the bottom.
“Fallen angel,” they cry,
Drunk sailors watch, aghast,
Hopeless, lifeless, she lie.
They dredge her up,
Callin’ her pale hue tragic,
They study her vacant eyes,
A morose sight, bloated to the surface,
On days of somber skies,
They think of her.
A lonely girl, too young to die.
tell me how the fuck I’m supposed to deal with losing you.
What will life look like 2 years from now?
Can I hear the train whistle between the brush of trees?
The howling of coyotes and roars of mountain lions,
Maybe I’ll be cruising down the golden coast.
I’m hungry for it.
Dry toast and black coffee from a waitress named Diane
It’s not just surviving anymore
I’ll feel at home once the ocean breeze hits my face,
Once it takes my hair between its salty grasp.
I’ll feel whole
Unrecognizable
Unknown.
On my own
No one to please
Just me and a couple sand fleas.
turn me on, watch me bloom