Summer, Glorious

how about- 'I am the winter of your discontent'

or just (your fucking winter)

I'm still malleable under parenthesis,

You'll get the same discounted skin,

entourage photographer- casting a peering shadow on the screen

Why don't I take a mould of my face,

cast it onto every playboy magazine since 1963

the sales slow at the first edition and I become a sticky cult copy

I'm a real, bra off feminist

but I hate how my tits look in the cold

rather shroud them up in some woollen cocoon-

pull it up on my head, so it quiets our scream

I can tell myself to be lovely, but I love it in your voice

they write about bleeding, and weeping, but its all dry

and choking on what I wished I wanted to say

maybe someday we'll swap numbers on the subway and you'll

hear my music from my headphones and remember

'I wanna talk to you...I wanna shampoo you'

I'll walk instead, with the ground all firm and unforgiving on my naked feet

think of you, in the shower, turning it cold as you wash your hair and

laugh at a joke I didn't mean to make