love in a body bag

well, isn't he just the favourite a(MERICAN PSYCHO)
with coat-hanger adolescent abortions &
(hard-earned)
drug deals
overflowing in his pockets.

and aren't i just a pretty liar,
the city whore
the dirty (jailbait!)
suffocating in his bedside drawer

and isn't love just perfect curled inside a
sidewalk-chalk outline
(because this black velvet eyeliner goes so well with BODY BAGS,
baby)
while in the backyard he's on ego-bruised knees
praying to his mother's alcholism and grief

(just Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane)

pretty red-haired alice, this is all far too criminal for you
(visceral-
just listen)
to the way he sings,
just listen to the way he SCREAMS

(and don't you think it means something
that you can only see him clearly when he leaves?)

i'm the criminal
here
bold and fragile
with yourvoice&yourtime
red-haired alice holding the sky
your valentine's roses drifting in the reckoning of the ocean(

and i RUN

I'VE RUN TWO THOUSAND MILES AWAY
but you still can touch the distance

YOU STILL CANTOUCH the distance

we all know who's the scapegoated sin
but who oh who do all the (alices) run to?
american psycho, you're back down on your knees
(just Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane)

(we all turn away when we bleed)
but this time, baby, there's gonna be a fucking
RECKONING

(and i'd say you best be(leave) )

-fin.