Lacey was all lace (and blackened bruise bloody bathroom blade binges). She was HardXCore in only the worst of ways. Speeds && drag her down, little white addictions. Being hammered only made sinking the the asphixiation in his vindictive smile almost easy. A faded picturesque photograph of a twisted senario; erie, frozen touch && stale, stagnant breath, && razorchains clinging to her wrists. Marlboro still burning. She'd shattered the mirror. That's the way they found the body, lifeless on the cold tile floor, in all her *gutter* slut *glory*. No rhyme, No reason. Just the atrocity, along with "Lacey's list of Rules", which made no sence. Underneath their DB && crime scene was the real truth behind number one. the only way to win the games she played was to lose it all && "This time it wasn't you" Maybe next time.
Author notes
I haven't actually gotten around to separating it into lines. Written as a final attempt to break my writer's block. It's a twist on a dream I had about a book I'm about to read, along with several emo/suicidal photobucket images.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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love it dearie. great job. you changed it up since i last read it but it's still great.i think you should leave it how it is and not separate it into lines because of the part "no rhyme, no reason." and just the whole poem overall sounds better not broken up.
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