*
-an idea, until she wasn’t-
*by someone showing a wry smile
to a fair truth*
(frankie leone, just a man)
*
*she’s fucked up*
*
*like rapaccini’s daughter
the frankenstein monster
-
or a sweet young thing hustling a hustler
-
smiling hearts disfigured
and winking souls into hospice
-
while those
garnet lips and robin’s egg eyes
are worshipped
-
they hallow pride
and molotov dignity
-
namely mine
-
while i ask for every orgasmic twist
of her beautiful switchblade
-
she’s yelling truth
-
and i’m choosing
to hear whispers
of my favorite lies*
*
*i’m fucked up.*
*
