Latin Hymns On Hot Liquor Sunday

Oh, my quiet infection
Of negligent elegance
Is seeping through
  My borrowed clothing and gleaming outer shell

Your imaginary heart beat is giving me
migraines and inferiority complexes

All out of prescription pills
      with time to kill
Self-sacrifice is not my style
  You can be the Superhero of modern day media
I prefer ecstasy and mirror dreams
      And motor oil and torn out seams

I'm dying like faeries with eating disorders
And supernova genocide on the pierced tongues of the under-aged

Lie to me
  Tell me I've been sick forever
and this dirty-lipped
      shattered mirror reflection will fade when
            I get better

Exposed flesh and disgraceful memories
Are all I have left
      Because, it seems,
Our realities are distorted opposites

I have learned my lesson
  There is no pleading with contamination
And no amount of suicide flavored bubble gum will take the taste
of{YOU} out of my mouth

So fuck the consequences
        Delicate grace is not born
  It is molded and sold at any hardware store
          Please, don't go out of your way
  to taste the rain
        [The sweet drops of agony are calling my name]

Darkness-bound and Diseased
    Are the qualifications
for the melody of the late night TV

  But forget all these minuscule things
      Like hot liquor Sundays
        and lace tattoos on bleeding thighs

This is not the time nor the place.
    So paint on your smiles of mercy and fatality


            We have to look good for the cameras