*i wrote this for a beautiful cokehead chick whom i used to know*

Neon lit from a black and smoky sky
Fuzzy bordered, shaking your hair out in slow motion.
Weak knees all thud onto the tile and your
first miracle is a forced pennance.
Heirophants and Angels, too scared to look at you
in the eyes, each gripping the train of your billowing gown
just in case you decide to ascend back
to wherever it is they make people like you.
I imagine you crying pearls and bleeding wine.
Thick white lines across a table. Your last supper.
I'm not dead but now i feel that way
by comparison.

So how about a ressurection?

Snap your fingers. Make it my reality. ("Doubt yourself
in private": One of your 10 commandments)
Roll away the door to my tomb. Startle me
awake, paint my skin healthy and alive.
Leave something sexy under my bandages.

"If anyone can do it, you can", my first inklings of faith in years.

I'm praying you get all your kicks before they crucify you.
Dad knows theyll try.
But even when your t-squared carrion,
when the cut in your side spills water, I still know in my heart you won't stay dead more than a few days.