A tattoo on your neck is a form of danger.
Your ashtray breath gives the impression of your own cancer eating your insides.
I wonder how many lives you allowed to pass you by.
Bitten nails like flitting flings, I bet an STD be something to sing!
Baby, you’re troubling to me.
Yet pretty as a white artificial Christmas tree.
I wish I were the lady beautiful in pink
Looking to devote to an entire art of escapee.
Dear, here’s a memento to strike your mental:
Enjoy my poetry.