A body defiled into a bruised shadow, watch the girl as she blows cocaine off the waning moon she wishes on white powdered stardust. More, and again, and when morning breaks it takes photos of her blood shot eyes and paints them into the battered sunrise but one day she won’t wake up. When one line is too much and a thousand lines aren’t enough, how can she stop chasing the high? Lying becomes eve…ryday conversation, her only contemplation set on bargaining she’s beginning to grow a new face. Speed racer, why don’t you slow down? You’re falling to the sound of four a.m. do you even remember what it’s like to dream? Now not even high beams could shrink those pupils like the holes in her skin they are permanent. Caught up in flared nostils anger spills from chapped lips. She’s a still born waiting for resurrection in torn jeans somebody needs to sew the seams back together before she falls apart. Her heart is an empty carton of cigarettes always trying to forget the hunger like her underweight empathy but the only thing that can still the screaming demon inside her comes in grams. You can’t build a castle out of the dry sand on the table but she hasn’t been able to cry since desire became her only emotion there’s an entire ocean of fish skeletons in between her ribs. Her eyelids are so heavy that they couldn’t lift the rolled up dollar bill in the side mirror where she keeps her lifelines so she wears sunglasses to hide her shame. In the end, what name will be written on her tombstone? She identifies with loneliness, but what an unfortunate inscription to kiss her grave can death save somebody who is already a ghost? She is lost in the maze she created, stumbling around naked and exposed but she always seems to know which direction to go to find trouble. Will she ever escape the self doubt that rapes her mind and leaves her pregnant with insecurities? Maybe that’s why her knees are scraped up, her eyes dressed in make up she doesn’t need but she misses the days when make believe meant fire breathing dragons now she doesn’t have to pretend to fly. But sometimes, pretend is better because you’re never going to crash running around the playground. She thought she found freedom, but she forgot to read the fine print between every line there’s a hint of self destruction high is really just low self esteem tell me, when’s the last time you were able to dream?