Ripped fishnets, short dress; frayed denim, pretty mess. Rock n’ roll soul in her fucked up fantasy; rhyming dirty words, singing sad songs of tragedy. Rebel rebel, spirit of black. Cocaine heart with a hollywood past. Dirty whore on her knees, back seats of cars; flirting with the boys taking shots at the bar. Strung-out junkie was chasing the high, delusion laced up and down her spine. Sold her soul to sin, lust, and desire. Snorting any powder that was claimed to get her higher. There was a riot in her heart, smudged makeup on her eyes; losing light in the dark, leather harness on her thighs. She was devoted to freedom, an obsession to roam. No compass on the map, the stars became her home. Rage flooded through her veins, a poet of sadness. She tried to mask her pain, an illusion of madness. Pierced the needle in her arm, cracked mirror, white dust; but poor baby did no harm; sleazy sex, vulgar thrusts. Heavy metal baby with blurred, red eyes; cursed with a deranged love of lies.  Sour drip down her throat, silver flask, burning slow; black ink covered her arms, painting over pretty scars. Dancing to her soft grunge, twirling in her short skirt; stumbling in her combat boots, petrified of wasting youth. Tough love, short lived; Hollywood baby, born to sin.

16 thoughts on “Sinner

  1. She’s only rebelling against the anger and pain — wishing there was a future and type of freedom that didn’t include them. She’s too sensitive. She feels too much. But she just wants to belong. And none of that is a sin.

    Liked by 1 person

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