Cocaine Barbie

Out of calls

I’m not allowed,

To speak.

How to be is shallow.

Doors cracked open.

Windows hoard all the shadows.

We wave with checks and pray there’s no  deed.

Rehabilitate,

or be attuned

to the same faith

as a pink or white line.

White powder lies.

The high laughs.

Short-lived.

The once-wise plunder themselves.

Thoughts run wild.

The noise never really stops.

 

Pressure is the only thing

that makes you wonder

how shallow this all is.

 

The goat follows.

Perry pink lines still shear there.

People find comfort

inside four walls

and call it heaven.

 

Makes you wonder

how the rich and famous ever wonder

if the poor still swallow.

 

Imagine if I told you

most fights never mattered.

I remain full of heart.

You melt off

End to the side.

Catch whatever is left.

 

No one knows Cocaine Barbie

until the crying clears,

back against their own fears,

until the blood is in the rear.

until the bleach —or

whatever lets you pretend

you’re allowed to move with zero haste, know you made me wish I carried maze.

 

Bleak.

I won’t lose sleep, watching you through window glass. Disjointed, I felt your words anointed by knights, warriors and sad men.

Lies, out to outpace our best fight, yawn at me, levers hold the pressure and the ball drops.

 

 

You won’t get far with yellow teeth,

with skin molding

over itself.

White lines make you wonder

if pain ever mattered

to people

who sleep fine.

 

We lean on counters.

You can be Raw.

Call me Sweet.

Pink-red lips.

Lies, and call me

Cocaine Barbie.

 

You like me better

when I’m found, but only if I’m bound—

rope made from estranged estrogen

Or the pink wearing off.

 

Same shirt.

Same story.

Same lie.

Same tax write-off.

 

How much money

buys a few months

Worth of forgetting?

 

My Mother is Mary

and Saint, Cocaine Barbie.

Both are made up, in the head.

Does it even matter anymore?

 

Wait,

Yes, sir.

On the rocks.

You need to Subtract.

But don’t forget to take the watermark.

You were never staying.

Never really here.

 

Not to keen you went downtown,

You’re for something, a little easier.

You called it twink.I wasn’t lip syncing.much less eating. I was what was left,

of the melody.

 

Pink cocaine on the pillow, gold tray.

Don’t matter if it makes the same people show up.

 

I was yours.

I got tired

of calling you daddy.

But,

Cocaine Barbie

doesn’t leave your lap,

Go ahead and start a tab

as long as you stray from my page.

Still on that same road—

the one where you called me a star

while you played doctor, strange that you drugged me and slept after.

Istanbul.

 

My sister Margarine.

Heirs to dope fiend.

We laughed

Said t’s all predictable.

 

Pink starts feeling like the way.

Then, nothing does.

 

Look at how

you’ll never really see.

Cocaine Barbie.

The world looks so simple

to people who only see in lines

when nights felt like they were good.

 

You won’t make it past twelve

like that.

Are the lies worth

what’s left

Where’s your happiness?

You’ll learn cold

when you burn from inside

four walls crawling with leeches.

still swallow,

whatever,

little rock is still left.

 

You make me wonder

how little history mattered.

 

You don’t blink

when you lie.

I will.

You’ll still pay.

 

I keep my own stack.

Fill it myself.

I like men who fill their trousers with money.

Men who know how to pay to exist.

nothing inside them.

 

You never mattered

the way you thought you did.

 

lied when you said bodies didn’t matter when survival is the only category left.

 

Ordinary.

Still, Extraordinary.

You wouldn’t hear it either.

 

I won’t hold you again.

 

Smoke room.

Chem sex.

ghosts.

Fent.

Or

What else?.

 

Oil and water.

 

You won’t ever blend.