postcards from penelope

full moon, again

where are you? maybe dead,

probably cheating on me

that's what the girls are sayin'

hang 'em all. filthy sluts

they don't know about us

i'm sleeping in the dollhouse

our bed's just too big for me

too little for all my nothing, nothings

it's okay, but the walls talk too much

and the ceiling is a two way mirror

with a hairline fracture

your "friends" are macking on me

tossing me dime store raindrop roses

and car wash love song collections

they are tramps. i am a lady

i keep my legs crossed

at the ankles

saw a homeless guy on Athens Ave

he had eyes like yours and

the wild tangled hair of a boar

they say everyone has a double

ahhh but that's just my imagination

running with scissors again

oh and i'm knitting a shroud

shut up. i really am. 

you'll see it when it's finished. 

all for you, babe

fun fact: a doll's legs will twitch

while being scalped

but only for just a little bit

so are you on your way back?

the dogs are howling,

108 of your friends are eating us

out of house and home

it's half past yet another full moon

and my mythological clock is ticking.

Hit it.