Brooklyn

divorce this vampira.
her eyes spill acetone laced tears.
she's hot with blood red fever.
cement her to the basement floor.
she's machine made to swindle.
by hands of a foolish fugitive.
no alcoholic apocalpse could save her sobering heart.
unclamp your hand from the pistol.
and unlace your shoes.
her domestic charm seduces.
and her cell mates hide in fear.
don't walk her by an alley.
or try to bolt her down at all.
when twilight comes after her.
we shadow box for fun.
lather up with her sweet potion.
and pull the curtains down.
it's time for all slumber fanatics to draw there pistols.
grip the jaded memories.
bam! bang! you're dead!