The Art of Drowning in Your Camisado

They take sour sips of tragic daiquire
sinking in to the lips and veins of shadows I've drugged with happiness
They are the aesthetic nostalgia of a vaudeville love

well love,
there's something romantic about a gunshot in the dark
and your seaside corpses lying in your dressroom
excusing, of course, the ones hanging from your hangers

With our dirty looks and glances, the makeup kissed the glass slippers of hell
And I for one can see no blood
Ariel

Build them God or Suicidal Puppets of the last time
He and I felt this good
A rush of blood to the head
I wouldn't be caught dead
Here in this place

Veins collapse, let the ICU relax for a second or two
As you compose yourself
The sadness of detail is a green glass sea
lake effect lovers drink teenaged dreams