She always liked drinking cold coffee
The Saturday mornings all faded into each other
And formed a black-brown blur of fantasies
Her fiction lifestyle slipping past her eyes
The tongue-setting was forming all the lies for her
And she couldn’t hold on to it –
Not for a second at all
So sorry that she tried so hard for so little
So sorry that so little tried so hard
She’s setting sail tonight
In her religion, there was a pot
Of half-cooked ideas slipping and swimming around
A bacterium can of cheap soup
That she drunk on a regular basis
In her religion, she worshipped a porcelain God
A beast that took everything she threw into it
She was a dancing gypsy, tossing fake jewels
In her Mardi gras world of flashing colors,
Flash scenes of childhood
She took it all in just to give it all up
With the vomit, she painted her lips
With the cigarette ashes she lined her eyes
A gasoline filled her demise
Short breaths among the satellites
“To rising dreams and falling stars,
A toast to all the concubines
The carrion that fell so far
From dreams down to her suicide.”
“A toast to you, the left behind
The fallen and the lamented cried
A toast to those who fell so far
When trying just to reach their star.”
She always liked imagining
How many people wouldn’t go to her funeral
And counting exactly how many stars have winked out
Nobody noticing, except perhaps a scientist
Down in North Carolina
Who sighs and sips their coffee, shaking their head
Wondering when the days will go dark
When every single last spark
Has died –
An angel whispers while sedated
Wondering where the weekends faded
Wondering why this world can be so harsh
But there’s vodka in the air tonight
And underneath the dying moonlight
(The last beacon in a dreadful world)
A little boy and little girl
Hold tongues to stop themselves from speaking
To stop themselves from reaching, reaching
In fear of falling farther than their friends have fell before
But it’s far too late to save them
And now they only exist in
The black-brown leather bound books
Telling tales from 1:00 to 7:00
Telling tales from hell to heaven
Over coffee,
As cold as their dreams have faded
