It's Not You; It's Winter Skipping

and even playing "Heroes" makes me want to die
this is supposed to be the best pressing
but the Prairie is boring
and my dress is too tight
I understand hiding rhinestones in a hayloft
but how long do we wait?
Days skip and I don’t have faith in anything but learning guitar chords

They say keep the ax in front of your face
and you'll play        you'll play
another day's death     headlights already.
I hate sex but I'm a whore
for your warmth.

The common denominator is the shoddy turntable
or the sick needle
it’s a shame when we rot so much time
two weeks until solstice
and the albino boys swear up a storm in the park

Lists make me hollow        but they also keep me alive
every night I wrap my wrist.
Bowie says where creativity is concerned
kneel at the porcupine
stand at the precipice
but I can’t get out of bed.

Every night it's a mystery
set at a ski lodge
a hot tub and ketamine
we lick our lips      wait for chalet girls to die.

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