ashley.

ashley,

my lover and used to be my crush,

always sexy and made me fucking lose it.

ashley,

rock 'n roll and sex and drugs never meant her shit,

but she was a punk rock queen.

ashley,

she disappeared and never saw her again,

and only that was left was a letter.

ashley,

she had spoke, not written words

in my face.

"dear liam, my love and hellish bitch.

i leave these words only for you to hear,

don't tell anyone about this,

or else you'll be hit unprepared."

ashley,

20 years later,

is on the screen having a good time.

i'm so happy until i realize it's

anal pornography.

god, ashley makes me

wanna yell at her producer and say

"are you fucking kidding me?!"

from joan jett to linda lovelace,

except the blackhearts and the anti-porn movement,

ashley tore my heart apart in 25 different bases.

yet it's okay, i swear to fucking god, it's okay

but she's not staring at the camera,

she's staring at me.

and she whispers my name, i know for sure,

while she's being fucked by a stunt cock, she says it so clear in the mic.

"william, help me, please. you're my only cure."