A Museum Born Illness.

Bitter syringes bite my ass

I am the insane little lass that sings to no one’s delight

Creatures cling to my lapels

Yes lapels

Lap dance first class train ride to hell

Snake shine shoes for the rain that fell down among my eyelashes

Flat tire shoe borne illness for none listless souls mongering for another chance

But we are all grave robbers standing up for no one’s cause

This is our flaw

One antique necklace to strangle me

One diamond ring without the promise of forever

I am unwed and widowed by the fortunes of feathers

Scrape the dish into the sink

I am beginning to think that medication is the right thing

Cures curating for my sanity

One famous painting to bring the public’s eye

Who would like to own bliss

Hang it on their wall

I cannot say I am impressed

The stroke meant nothing at all

Until I could not move my left arm

Then all fell away

And I heard your music play.

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