It’s too quiet.
Hooded men chase me
through graveyards.
I fall into an open grave,
feel lonely when I think of kissing you.
Broken glass, flying horses,
think I’ve had too much to drink.
I see shadows on the stairwell,
boys in lipstick, girls in chains.
Long legs, black dress,
think I’ve had too much to drink.
Little girls, all in a row,
sweet offerings.
Boys can be such snakes.