AMY’S POEM

Narcissistic adventure, I am my favourite indentured, servant to apocalyptic dreams, lying in a pool of blood, she had slit her wrists after a night of bodyjumping, it was another day or so they say, of camshows, spiritual epitaphs for the unsatisfied, relics of old, she drained them of their wallets, and the pendulum showed That we are addicted, to the friction of living alone As a child, the rare smiles from ice cream cones Had not hid the pain that the preacher showed My night demons chasing me Spending time in runescape to numb the latency Between manic receptors, drawn every vector Of my pain in a comic, showed it to parents and then they clapped What a wonderful talent to have As the child was slapped, after being refused Internet cafes, star wars addicted, uncommonly afflicted with multiple sicknesses God is my witness and yet when I invited, her to the trial to speak for me, she didn’t show up Like she doesn’t for a lot of people Amy in particular, her favourite past time was making married men cross that last line Abandoned by her mi amor to go overseas She kept the tears hidden behind a veil of insecurities We painted digital murals of our devotion Announced the party to our followers, watch them shower us with golden roses Dancing on the fetal petals, those that fed her compliments - flirtatious messages from a thirsty generation Helped in the summoning of the neon demon, the nightcrawler, that stalks the web waiting for worthy victims The last time we talked, she said she’s never been in love and she didn’t give a fuck All I know is one’s a lie and the other’s probably a mix of gin and brandy Oh how I miss you Amy