Copyright, Vivica

little girls in their pink dresses
frilly at the bottom
— just like when they were four
thirteen now
only difference is
once innocent eyes
now rimmed in black
compressed with knowledge
they shouldnt know
ribs bearing
because they dont consume food
5’7 & 98 lbs
look at me
look the fuck at me
i’m one of these girls
feigned smiles & loyalties
when really
we’ll betray anyone
for a razorblade to pierce our pale skin
under these innocent dresses
scars & cuts & bruises
we cut to bleed
we cut because we feel the need
we cut until we’re satisfied
which is until we’re
young & old
mixed in to one
used to be beautiful
now just broken
we used to be smart
now its just darkness
we come in any form
boy, girl, black, white
the girls standing at the edge of their
white picket fences
you cant see their scars
but they’re there
we grow up in stable households
locked up in our rooms
playing our rock ‘n roll
screaming along with the self-loathing
we grow up in broken families
abusive fathers — drug addicted mothers
locked up in our rooms
playing our rock ‘n roll
screaming along with the self-loathing
every noose fits every neck
& every scar molds to every body part
self-abuse doesnt discriminate
we hate ourselves
you think we can only come
from the “bad parts of town”
when we are everywhere from
broken down apartments
in the dark parts of Queens
to the big southern mansions
that are put upon hills in Georgia
pent up in our rooms
screaming & jumping to our fucking self-loathing
rock ‘n roll that screams out suicide
we are the future
& the future is going to be pretty fucked up.

The Queen’s Nostalgia

Copyright, Vivica

hearts in plastic bags
grinded in to sand
a beach of heartbreak
[the plague of man]
sinning liars upon innocent chairs
all round good children
hanging dead
in angels hair
broken girls dancing upon
a well-built sturdy stage
adorned in plastic wrap
to keep their insides
in their rusty cage
& have you seen her lately?
our queen of mistakes
she’s got a king now
who untied her from the stake
but shes still our queen
more so then less
she’s given up her plans
of escaping to eden
look at her now, on her throne
she’s directed at her cynaide fans
to keep the toxins coming
die slower then fast
the boy who she calls angel
golden hair & dazed eyes
full of wonder
with full grown angels wings
never wanting her demise
but yet, bringing her to life
breathing in pure air
something she hasnt felt in ages
he turns his back
when she turns to her septar
of xacto knives & razorblades
to stop the fucking
on going pain
her kingdom is in shambles now
broken girls trying to rouse
their broken boys
to no compliance the boys still sleep
alone again
like always
to weep & weep
& when they call out to their queen
to rouse the boys from eternal hell
she tries to rouse them too
stepping through the windy vines
she tripped & fell
ontop of them all
dead, like always
she rouses one, two, three
up they go
just to fall back asleep
except for one
the curly black hair
is wounds are fixed
his wings unclipped
as he jumps to the air
he gets to go to eden
to leave us behind
& says to the queen
“goodbye, goodbye”.


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