If insanity breeds cruelty, I’m turning into a harlot.

My eyes, glazed over in red, and well being folded in, under the bedspread that tells me stories of better times and sweet, sweet desperation.

I’ll sell my innocence before I sell my soul.
And don’t worry, I cut rates by half.

Your eyes are stark-naked and my breath is short.
Too short, considering, that I can feel oxygen crushing my bones with their kind suggestions of breathing normally and sticking my head between my legs.
It’s you and those god-forsaken cigarettes.
These are unlike those times in this very room, of pretending.
Pretending to dance, sing, love and simply pretend.
Unlike those times of feeling smoke snaking into my nose, greeting me the way light, peeking under bedroom doors may.
This is unlike pretending to be all grown up and all special and all knowing.
I’m all but a pawn in the recess of his mind.

However, dear one, it is you, who shall reap the benefits of my demise.

If I’d ever know mistake before, it’s be no surprise.
Albeit, I’ve been in this room, for what seems like forever, painting pictures in my mind.
Pictures of better times.
Of youth.
Of Love.
Of pretend.


If growing up breeds mistake, I’ll make them by the dozen.
Yes.
Because it’s no longer him and me.
I suppose maybe the tide of stability, has sent me over the edge.

I watch them all go by, one by one, boasting their supremacy over what one may say is time.
Time to perfect, time to caress, time to protect.
Time to cradle insecurities and turn them into something new and fresh and better.
I, on the other hand, am thankful enough to wear them out loud.


I am as darling as Clementine.
And I tell myself every morning, of every day,
“I will be pretty. I will be pretty,”
With my nose stuck up in piggy determination.

I am as cold as Esther Greenwood.
Give and take.

Your coyness surprises me.
In each other’s eyes it’s apparency is blinding.
We’re alike, you know?

And boy, is it a shame.
Such skills wasted on being so utterly minuscule.
We could be on Broadway.
We’re the normal ones.
Believe it, they’re so impossibly insane.
Thank the god’s I’m still alive.
They would’ve burned me at the stake.

I’ll throw my head back, and float into the sky.