Back to Kelly's Paper

"Bad Karma"
Pretty words and presents
Hugs and kisses
They don't make everything alright
Seven years bad luck
To be torn by stares
The weary sleep here
Only to find they aren't welcome
She said
Stand your ground
And she said...
Don't look down
And she said…
And I am
Never looking back


"Tall Glass"
Shame shame shame. Broken faith in my name. Stop and stare and I'll slit your throat because I don't like those eyes burning! Go get yourself clocked...but never come back at me with that wicked tongue and drowsy bottle of aspirin. Two on one. It only takes and I only break. You'll have to forgive me, you see? I'm a bit off right now because I've lost my golden ticket in the wishing well to burn among the stench of lightning roses. And I can still feel you staring. Stopping for a second to adjust to the backward glance I shoot up my arm and reverse zoom to the bitter band you call charm. Passion of the crosswords reach the optimal part of that jaded fool you seem to make up in what you're lacking to date. There's nothing I can bet on you to keep a fusion of the two pragmatic stings I call on in vain. Stop looking and you may find enough time to satisfy the sadness and the twine that binds and pulls at your brink and your breast and your sign. Staring! How can I shake the brine that bends and extends and pulls and shakes and bends and pulls with your burning eyes and staring ties. How do I know if love is love or if love is just an image I want to love. Pop! Pop! Pop! goes the snow melting on my eyelashes, stinging more than tears could ever take comfort on my cheeks and face. Introverted in this case of the burning place of the Gods and the children swimming on the ferris wheel while the parents stop and bite their tongues when they're swinging over their heads. Screaming I say! Fire! Step away! Come down! Obey! But why keep the masses in tact when you can watch your own back and take the critics that try to fuck you. I haven't really seen the world through the eyes of anything but the burning sensations you send up my spine where marking and branding is lost with the fortitude and with the find. It's 1:18 and the glazes are melting my pages and hooks. I'll strike your matchsticks and wet my own. The twisted pleasures I get from making you wait at the stop in the rain while I stay safe from the pours - locked behind broken hinges...broken doors. Reaching for the peeling paint that provides a covering for your cowardice and contouring edges…Frozen Applesauce with a side of tears.

<3, [NitroFlory]