Pastel Nights

i used to want to be a cigarette girl, have long blonde hair with smoky roots and watch the pain go up in velvety rings.

i used to want five-blade razors, a camera flash, and a filter applied. glinting silver on a white lace bedspread.

i used to want a boy to kiss my scars away, to take my hand through a polaroid camera, baby soft lips on pale rose skin.

i used to want to take some pills, spilled out onto the counter like candy. a black and white picture of elegant dysfunction.

but soon i was bent over hacking up my lungs, pressing a haphazard tourniquet to my wrist, being kissed in new ways by strange, scary boys, manging to right the chemicals in my brain.

and to tell you the truth, i never looked back at those photos or took any of my own because this reality? was nothing i wanted to capture