slow down, Ace
Shaky sheets are not enough
to cover the lumpy mattress on which I slumber.
Iíve slept, Iíve slept and gotten good at sleeping
not catnaps, I do the big sleep
dance with me, Death
stick your hands in plaster of Paris
I will give you a mold of my body,
lift and layer me with your sickness, with life
that never loved you like I loved you.
She never pressed the lit cigarette into her skin for you
or let the ulcer in her stomach burn, then simmer.
I even hung all the halos on my bedpost
I know the glow hurts your artistic eyes and sensitive third sight
I pressed my face on the mirror for that very reason.
I drew my blood and left a cup with two sugars
I threw my clothes on the floor
All clothes need pressing,
Heís onto and into photography and
The pictures of me are distorted
The pictures of me are black and white
All made in a darker dark room, exclusively for abstract art galleries at 4 AM
big sleep will abandon you
big sleep will chase the truths away
Just like the sheets, only remembered when aged and unclean
Like a girl, like a girl.