It’s late- Yeah...the buzz still there- Checking the lights...green- One foot in and one foot out- Thick leather sound brushes up against my ear- Zip up, its cold- Gonna step in- In midnight, she shops in star light, window shopping diva- Red boots she’s looking for- She wanted them…for her birthday- Time clicking like heels round me- A hostage of my own willing- A star in my own comedy- Stillness shattered by wild hands to my face- We bleed somehow together in our distinguished pain- Melting into the street drains- Into the city sewer- Held hands thru the private tunnels- Check the head again- Fishing for the buzz- The reason- The only reason- Red boots, pearly smiles, between the candles- "Happy Birthday"- She asks me where we’re going- I reply "I don’t know"- Click my heels three times, I’m home- Her eyes wide with fear- I’m sliding; she’s holding me up- I’m putting up a smile- Red boots gone walking all over me- Feel’em all over me- Its late- Yeah…the buzz gone- Curled round the radio’s love song- She curses me- Temples thumping- In irregular beats- All my love under her heels- Blurry red boots dancing round me- I see her…piercing eyes in the crescent moon- Radio love song…fading behind me- Radio love song…jumping in a river full of angels- ...all over me... Queen! She’s the turbulence in the otherwise tranquil empire- The onlookers, the cronies, the peasants applaud her- With out my protests, they no nothing of her true intentions- Her watchmen- Watch each nuance with careful calculation- And then I puke- Puke and Puke all over her- All over her followers- And all over her new Red Boots- Silence...except the muffled tones- Of the Radio's Love Song-
Reason for writing:
I don't know
Birth sign: Libra
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