The reincarnation of damaged goods lives

and lasts just as loyally as a kings crowd.

How many times do you glance in the mirror

 only to reapply cheap CVS make up and

pretend your shattered rib cage can be seen.

We desire a starving form of African children

 in our waste basket of unfinished meals.

-ha. A devilish craze tugs at my heart when

 I need to feel shitty in order to be alive.

A howl so bright, sings at a higher pitch than

the fat lady who deems endings. I’m not one

to beg, but baby please strip off my button

down tee and lick my name down the shaking

 parts of my hellish grin; damaged goods

breed a better religion than the nuns who

touch themselves in order to feel God. But,

it is those who balance the delight of stars

ripping open a night sky and the serenity

of a morning breeze who become immortal.