I long for Death's lips
to touch mine and kiss me
the way no silly mortal ever could.
I like to play like a child
in the revolving doors
of high class department stores
and pretend I'm bouncing back and forth
to the dark side,
instead of just sitting there on the shelf.
I try desperately for him to notice me.
I can see my prince...
my nothing...my everything...
I can feel Death,
sensually scraping at my back,
teasing me, sampling me.
I can see my ashes are confetti.
There's a party and I'm finally the star!
I like to drink like a lush
in the bloodsucking bars
where the vampires wear tight jeans and cheap cologne.
And I pretend enough alcohol in my blood
will hurry my prince to rescue me
from these caped imposters
before their fangs start to show
after too many bad pick-up lines.
I long for Death's lips
to touch mine and kiss me
the way no silly mortal ever could.
I hang upside down and pray
for the chaos in his kiss.
But we must make out near a fire hydrant.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem