LADY GODIVA: The Naked Truth

Mrs. James Bond,      I don't know why           but I don't expect you to talk I expect you to die. For you've already survived a thousand micro-suicides.     Cronus is not on your side,      you cannot cross            this Bridge of Sighs,      you're affiliated with The Lord of Flies       more than caffeinated with all that lies beneath your cross moon.  Standing underneath your bedroom window they've watched the glow go right out from your eyes it's distinctly extinguished anguish now occupies; psychosis, leaks from the sides. All your ride or die bitches go on their own rides, leaving you behind with your ever growing paranoia even the stars will soon disown ya, 'cause you can't prioritize and you can't mature and every thing you say has the substance of manure but the worst thing ...

backwards father wandering daughter taught her 123 ABC ego-centrism & hypocrisy. passed down an-ass-cancer-gene to a girl that's been passing out since 13. she guzzles down  whatever's handy while you-- Ronnie -- hardly noted the drip at the back of her throat from all the coke she's coated up her nose to make her face so bloated. on meth she can't sleep The Past makes too much noise. It squeaks. She still hears the boards creak  'members what those boys made her do for toys  sure she's got ten toes but they'll be six feet under when she'll overdose  beneath a white oak tree sooo.... where you be, Daddy? tryin' to be all buddy-buddy when you all fuddy-duddy    too busy off being normal a real  Illinois  boy  while she's ill in Ohio living with the Iroquois  you intervene too late you enable too much and what's ironic to me, is the irony and I got a hu...

Strange, is your southern comfort. A cracked withering queen. Your meat's not free range. Heightening nothing but your senses. But oh, what a scene.  Lowering your sensibilities.  Forgetting your responsibilities.  There's no humanity in your consumption.  Fully dubious, that there ever was. Comes the time, for retribution.  She's got money for make-up, clothes, booze, 'n' drugs. She's got time for temptations, corruption, hoes, 'n' thugs. Another selfie in the bathroom. Another boy in the bedroom. Huffing perfume.  Putting filters on her eyes.   Now she never cries. Just screams. Like she screamed in the ride      to the hospital     to the therapist  Life makes it hard to cope     when you're related     to your rapist  Love can make you lie,     make you acquiescent   ...

A quick suicide with a two-sided razor, If I added my blood—it’s just for flavor. I watched over her like a worried mother, Surveyed  her surrender to a Soma Coma And I would never judge her because I understand her disease and her need To escape from this quality of life & this cost of ‘living’ And the erroneous tee-vees that act like it’s reality they’re giving. Her head, It starts to nod. Her words, Get blurred and she starts to sob, Over how she needs to get a job. & I think that it’s odd that her head starts to bob And she looks less like hippie and more like odd. I’m indentured. Should not have ventured this far from home. Sadly comprehending                 I’m better off alone.