in the corner of a whitewashed room
violent aches
insufficient answers
a bed frame empty in dreams
and faces scattered all over
maybe these mirrors
(as they come and go)
will strike a stinky reflection
of this narcissistic slut
- he said
the doctor will come later
take your meds, be gentle.

I’ll write you a prescription
to you your spoiled friends
for all, to the world
o world, silly one, can this gentle
man on a white coat
cure you with his stethoscope
and more more oxycodone
something to calm your nerves
and take you down
make you soft, kind and pretty
like you used to
- what happened to you?
and i’ll say i lied
i always lie and grin and
whisper silly little stories
of love and death to cheer you up
as i should
don’t you know?
you love girls like us, o world
ill and sore
missing something that can never come
something that wasn’t ever lost
and (there) never was.

ending up dead