I am the human version of the revolving door.

[deathbyinnuendo]

she has no job and no
money
and many many bottles of whiskey
and though she does look nice in her clothes
there's really nothing much more to it,
except for some witty remarks attempting to cover
the fact that she has
rubberbands for nerves,
a spinning compass for a heart,
and a corpse of a liver

all these voices she cannot understand
they are like tight ropes
and she cannot balance on them,

drama queens are everyone,
though perhaps she meant to type
everywhere.

she thinks she's accidentally trying to die,
she puts accidentally in front of everything now

she didn't think her body would let her do this to itself, either that or
she's too fucking strong or..."unkillable."
or just.......

LOST

counter THIS with THIS and THIS with THIS
and THAT and some more of THIS while you wait for
THAT

her soul for a world that doesn't move,

for the permanent immobility of the universe.

HOWEVER
she has an emperor
for a lover,
plans for a future
she is to supposedly
attend (like a funeral?)
and a keen writing instrument
to keep her warm through winter,
though it has no wires, just ink.

but...
she will not give up on october
drunk as the horizon is straight
wondering how the story would have went
had she severed her head from the sky