They say everyone floats
in the dead sea but no not me
sank straight to the bottom
citrus bruised among the coral
I wasn't born so much as I hatched
out of a faberge egg
kind of in the same way a tree grows fruit
sure to wait until everyone is asleep to cry
you have two options in life
rot or become marmalade
wind navigates tower blocks
slides its hand under my coat
queen of the banking district
on a bed of trinkets reach down
between my legs in search of life
J'adore to shoplift
give me sports cars
manicures as self defense
my body is a weapon
I live in a house of silk
with boarded up windows
and walls of lace
in a full face of make up
I sleep in an oysters shell
at night I am a painter
I dip a cigarette in ink
the sky is a grapefruit
I paint her portrait
silently I paint her heart
pouring out of her open mouth.
