Gaudy, awkward,
almost geeky,
but with hard edges
as sharp as knives.
Compellingly raw:
a delight in disorder
wrapped in leather and spikes
and pumped on amphetamine
untouchably
pale, pasty,
sunken,
a washed and saturated blue like the eyes of Appalachian children
raised on potatoes,
sullen:
(what the fuck is that? PUNK CHICKS DON’T SMILE(
ghosts
(angels perhaps
(the residual effect of some failed future.