im writing lists again, to measure out my days, no coffee spoons for me, j alfred would be amused. but there are lingering eyes glancing off my idle frame and subway cars remain a place for love and pain. too distracted by the daylight, i have lost my midnights glower and the touching of my tongue to the mirror seems to captivate these grinding sour flashes of conspicuous sexual power. why do they want to pin me up like a butterfly on velvet bed, wings tucked back and spread, like the legs you dream about placed over an ambiguous head. i toss about in dirty sheets and skate on wooden lies, i tell myself itll be alright but it seems overcompensation is the cruelest guise. transient nature of encircled arms, wheres the meaning in retainer of my lovers charm. stop. dont idolize a harlot, dont fall in love with a whore. we tell you this honestly but always you ignore, and secretly we’re glad you do. for we could not live without someone seeing through our make up and spite, we are good at heart we only wait for you to recognize the angel through the devils mask.