/ words / 2018 / Pale

January 22, 2018

She has a predilection
For tawdry destinations.

She’s had too much
          (what’s one more?)
Just one more.
          She’s taken the hit.
                    The strife.
                              Oh, the drama.
          She can’t get enough.
          She can’t get enough.
                    (She’ll never come down now.)
Once all the stars die out.
          Her angels flame out.
Will She pick up this rock again?
Or leave it for dead?

Star struck.
          Never lucked out.
Just Her cavern of doubt
          And sworn hallows.
It doesn’t really follow,
          A torn repertoire.
A single society,
          Would that really be the best of me?

          (She owns us all in full, entwined in that eternity.)

          What is a sore loser anyways/////////?
Does it press into your skin?
Does it make you sin?
          Does it push you to the precipice?
          Does it make you free? To be the scene.
To be the scene of the seen, and wishes taken upon the void
          The barren rejoice.
                    (they have no choice)
          Her lights sing out.
                    (it’s quite the bout.)
Oh yeah, She’s got the drama. 
Oh yeah oh yeah, She's the Momma. 
          She can’t get enough.
          She can’t get enough.
She’s hooked 
          (so hooked)
She’s cooked 
          (so cooked)

The pale blue drug has got Her blasted.
Smithereens is now Her masthead.
          Her mind explodes with 14 billion eyes.
          Living us at once like some sort of twisted prize.
The stars, oh, the stars will flame out. 
Her angels strung out.
And the sober eternity kicks in
          (She’s left in the cold, eternal wind)
Oh, will She pick up this rock again? 
Or leave this place for dead?