About a girl I used to know who grew bored while I grew tired
yet not enough
and I don’t care about your punk etiquette
I’m glad that you can afford the mentality
which would dictate a lack of future for the rest of us.
just junk food and self inflicted cuts along your arms
microwavable burritos and cigarette burns on skin hidden in long sleeves
a craving for morphine and a trust fund that’ll hit when you’re 25.
When do you find time to write, sweetheart
when you spend your nine-to-five feeling sorry for yourself
and selling advertisement space for Family Feud reruns?
while yearning for arms to wrap around you
while you sleep
dreaming of glittering fame
and of someone finding out who you are
I’ll still love you, honey
once California sinks underneath you
and I’ll remember when you called me
“a dirty prophet with a beautiful junkie body”
while I recited poetry between your legs
unconcerned by the handsome gravestones
that grew outside of your windows like a summer fever.
This one is for you, wherever you are…