Lana-esque Poetry

Baby,

My hand in your pocket

And I asked the moon;

All this time, by my neck,

Have you been in my locket...

Fuck it,

Before my cigarette is over my baby,

Fly me to the moon in a rocket,

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My baby, my bastard,

He stole my heart and broke it,

Put it in a box and locked it,

Was gonna fly me to the moon;

But he flew in a car to Connecticut...

And baby, through the deserts and valleys of grief,

I'll be autostopping, cause you know that I don't have a ticket,

A ticket that is gonna ride me to your heavenly cursed heart