diamonds are just broken glass

she's the after-burn of secondhand smoke
in your laid-back midsummer nights-
the classic black and white film noir victim
in this scripted tragedy of good girl gone bad reality tv.

she's the prinsesa in your hardcore punk music scene,
pole-dancing like a vintage tease
and stripping to the tune of rock and roll ballads
while drenched in tequila shots

she's the pretty little nymph in your wildest fantasies-
your dirty little secret broadcasted in a tabloid scandal exposè.
her innocence is alluring, her smile has a double-meaning
and you tattooed her name on your left shoulder blade—
an innuendo for disaster and a pseudonym for catastrophe.

she's a car crash type of beautiful-
a hot mess in lace.
she sips sunsets in red plastic cups
and writes suicide notes in newsprints.

she's the rain on a sunny day and
an eclipse on a wednesday night.
she wears a rosary around her neck
and sings psalms before she sleeps.

she kisses teddy bears goodnight
and throws a tantrum before
she takes her medication.

she thinks there's a conspiracy in psychology
and the music she listens to has subliminal messages.
she wonders why there's a pyramid on a dollar bill
and why no one can escape this rabbit hole alive.

diamonds are just broken glass, anyway.

.

.

.

soundtrack: northern downpour by panic! at the disco