JUST A DOLL, ISN'T SHE?

split cherries

Miss bedroom eyes and sunflower girl wanted to leave because hell wasn't just six feet under. It started with a broken nose, scrapped knees, then bloodied mouths because you liked who you liked, called bullshit about bullshit. Stiff folks never get any so they never know when business isn't there's or when to shut their mouth, just how to run it and close their legs tight enough for the cobwebs to stay put. Invent their own stories if need be. To get their "point" across which is that they are as stiff as the dead. They are about as boring as this town itself so we try to take nothing too personal. It's a them thing.

In Bedroom babe's foggy room, they'd roll up joints with bunk weed, drink stale beer with a salted rim and shotgun the smoke blushing, cherry stem spines taunting between lips and teeth and tongues twisting and sweet cherry lovin' that had to be kept quiet to not disrupt the nosey neighbors. They never felt sorry for doing what they did, just sorry for this shitty town and shitter residents. All the good was just for them anyways, no one to tell just something real. More real everyday.

They made their plans, a great escape. A land somewhere. A beautiful garden. A tiny house, maybe a shed. But they had to hide in this hot hell that was new orleans hands splayed against empty stomachs because "'ant no pig that ever fit a dress" rotten rose drowned hotel rooms and stick on smiles, greasy corners that shined brighter with Sunflower's mamma's lip gloss cherry red tinted glasses that swallowed there starved faces, cherry red tinted hearts broken by the truth, broken by families who will never be families but paint themselves to be because this is not-

S U B U R B I A

but a sweet slice of louisiana living where we breath out bibles and perfect purity and scream at our fear before it ties itself into this one-inch-lawn-ed life.

"Okay, let's go."