Rot CoutureMature

All pink-lipped and smokey-eyed, all rabbit in headlights, she 

Spills blood-cells and secrets on the sheets, her heart splits,

Crumbles like an old lipstick as he forces her Lolita skirts above

Her thighs; she's camellia-tinted and painted and pinched into pop-

Culture pieces of princess.


Choke on a mist of Dior in a room you don't know anymore,

Just like Alice, gone fragile and fairy-bone thin in a keyhole 

That leads to a Garden of Sin; through the looking-glass 

Mirror smeared scarlet with drugstore amour. 


Swept up in her lace-trimmed fantasies, feet cut up,

Glass-slippers stomped into champagne-flute

shards; lungs full of bubbles and Vera Wang scent, 

She's all spent, but she'll use herself up 'til they 

Bleed her, suck her dry, all that 

Bitter blue blood in the mouths of the masses. 







The End

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