Valley Doll

Hands, these, the same

That soiled pages forever ago,

Wetting them to death with cheap thoughts

From a gutter mind tethered to the whipping post-

 

C’est la Vie…

 

I am a child still.

Suffering a cage existence.

Pissing on his mother’s lilac sheets

Because he dreams in apple vinegar and salt

Of a waking life.

 

Only to wake-

 

And suffer a belting via fine indigo cow-hide

Because his goddamn bladder decided to hose out the backdoor.

Now what? My a*s is a strawberry field

After the tanks roll in, roll out

And I’m left to cater to the machine lusts

Of some filthy wind chime beat to death

By a butterfly hurricane against a sternum Berlin Wall

The color of a wedding veil worn by some poetically-retarded Valley Doll

Who won’t ever sell out to anyone

That she was raped by her father at the age of 13.

 

Steady as she goes.

 

Don’t worry, you’ll be old soon- I promise.

Reviews

[Emily B]

wow!