there was a little girl (and the circle of life)

who had a little curl right in the middle of her forehead. when she was good, she was very very good, and when she was bad she was horrid.

it was not enough for me to taste the acid, i had to bathe in it and then hold hands with those around me, blisters creeping up all over their bodies as well. miraculously, i am the drunk that walks away from the car accident i caused while every one goes up in flames. there aren't any witnesses who will talk, so i will get off.

the circle has nothing to do with this. no birth death mumbo jumbo. people like me are too selfish to consider the possibilities. we walk down a hundred dark alleys, speed down a thousand highways free from polyester restraints and remain intact while the innocent suffer freak accounts of spontaneous combustion and nuclear meltdown. we cannot possibly ruin our own good time sex-worker curves by procreating, either.

idiots believe it all to be for the best. we may not die instantly, but we will not live to see ourselves old and unlovely. meanwhile, we will pass our time fucking and fighting, painting a fraught portrait of wasted youthish tendencies and making up words like youthish. our legacy will be in all of the people who burn for us, shaking their fists while secretly longing for our embraces and kisses to be on the other side of perfunctory. It never happens as we have the ability to fuck with people and not believe that karma is a real monster under the bed just waiting to take a bite of an errant ankle.

there is indeed a little girl with a curl. she has a sweetness akin to apples, but she feels just like the razor blade those sick fucks put inside all that time ago.