My heart cut out by
Nickelodeon
and boxed for their
wicked queen.
I’d take them back, every
last tweet.
I’m curdled and raw and
obscene.
Perez and Courtney and
Chrissy,
smell my heart sizzle on
the third rail.
If I’ve ever tweeted
you’re ugly,
it’s my mind that’s grown
a spiked tail.
As the bong sailed from
the window
I figured it had sprouted
wings.
My heart is a tattered
box kite.
When I’m high I do stupid
things.
I meant that Drake should
stake it
and not actually murder my vagina;
my isolation is finally
complete,
my heart a cup of bone
china.
