factory girl

he was the warhol to her sedgwick

and he made a decision he was proud of

but she would regret

he groomed her to her most beautiful

under the shade of boudoir lights

“you’ll be a star” would tickle her ears in the night

and dress her in black to contrast the whiteness of her soul

tell her she’ll become richer like she’s never been before

and push her to the quiet, lanky bard that stands

solemnly reading and prying, watching and judging

she comes closer and grabs the stick from him, smokes it and makes it her own

and seeing her puff it made him want to make her his own

the crown is just a walk away but it’s faster when you’re in a daze

and deep in attraction it becomes close

they close the door and on the ecstatic heaven they raised each other to galaxies higher

but it was only he who descended, he left her suspended

and still she floats high like she’s always been, as though she was on her amphetamines

he didn’t foresee, she came from the factory

it didn’t matter to him, he wanted a nurse

not a little girl dressed in glitter and pearls

so while he pranced his skinny legs away

she remained hanging, hoping he would stay



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