Light her up and she explodes

Resplendent skies––
Animals by her side––
16 mood lifters left in the vial––
The blackhole Sun––
The vortex of fun––
Quantum force fields just in time––
Cherry bomb soul, ignite––
Not a meme left in sight––
Bad songs play on the internet radio.
The blue box blues makes her smile;
She thinks of don’t wake daddy and mousetrap––
A little girl with a harmonica, whaling away in her mind.
Reaching for the skies every time she gets high.
Driving around this way much younger guy.
I think they make out and it’s like that.
I wonder what he does to drive her wide right.
He’s what it is was what Ricky’s wife said.
All that bitch wanted was skinny girl wine.
They went to 3 different stores just to find it.
They tell her, you go, girl;
They tell her, twist your leg and flex it.
For the camera.
She is fire in her mind.
She thinks I’m delusional.
She wants to talk to you about the backstreet boys.
Not much going on.
I’d rather talk about anything with a mind that becomes
The antithesis of what it’s told.
Throw me in the trash, cherry bomb soul.
I am a scarecrow––I don’t know why.
She wanted them to hear the music––
She wanted them to see who she was.
She might even believe in every soul’s story.
Some people just can’t find the time.
Some think it’s the artist’s mission every time––
It’s like trying to reform that skinny girl wine––
Spacetime will do it in 10 or 20 years time.
It makes me think why even try.
Destiny is a harvest of rhythm and rhyme.
But then again, cherry bomb soul.
Magic is right.

#poetry #fiction #romance

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