Bulletproof

Start of conversations,
industrial beat,
words,
Gothic cathedrals
scrapping my dignity.

the strings are loosened
and tightened up
to my neck.

And I don't expect to feel regret from this.

My taste,
better,
your queers,
cheap imitation of reality.
My scream,
My cream,
better.

I don't expect to feel regret from this.

Your walk so pop,
your studded tongue,
your skin breaking leather,
where haven't you been?

Don't expect to feel regret from this.

My hair,
pulled,
you,
quenching and starving
twisting and knotting.

Expect to feel regret from this.

Down the throat
two or three pills,
full pupils = bulletproof.

Regret from this?

Criticisms burning
on the same pace as
your cigarette
and you're
careless with
the ash.

It's everywhere
regret.