Junk

Junk heroin days and nights I´m gonna lose the love of my life swaying in universe and pieces of a journal, torn to shreds showing a junkeys life, go ask Alice. Her thorazine nights, waiting for the dealer to arrive, like death on a stagnant Sunday afternoon, with a package you must sign. Pills, cocaine, letters from lovers long lost and forgotten, lying in bed, hooked on drugs, with a poetry book with a cover of Ophelia dead in the river.  Rings, tattoos, scarves. (Water is the steamveil she pulls over her head) I´m gonna live, fast and short, her black nails pulling another cigarette, her purple hair in spikes, lashes golden. The princess of deaths kingdom, her lips bloodred. Herbal cigarette, the scent of incense. Tarotcards, showing Death and the hanged man. Her walls show black and skeletons, her lamp is black, and her shirt black with stars. She wears witchy heels and short skirt. Her name is Belinda and she´s wearing the night. The love of my life will leave, black nights and the rivers of death. The cigarette package, the poems, the leafs of dried flowers in the book. Her wall is covered with pictures of horses, wild horses, bands, vampires. Sylvia Plath The Bell Jar covered by  poems by EE Cummings, and a picture of a dead man. Kafka on her wall, next to a poster with vampires. Junk and Go ask Alice both lie at her bedside. Along with halfeaten junkfood. Rockmusic from the stereo, Ophelias pond.