Warehouses and Cut-off Jeans

She lay there in her daddy’s cut-off jeans,
Skin creeping across the sheets.
Not one hair of hell could hold her,
Not her, the black sheep of the pin-up girls.

The pictures grip her scent,
Every inch of her worth dying for
To know that your time will come,
To see what happiness is worth.
Miracles rest on pillows,
Have fathers that disapprove;
Miracles are worth the danger
Of the leaving the light on
When the rain drains your face.

Black and white, a 50’s film goddess.
Another’s eyes see her
Sing life away, headed west
On the last ticket for the roadrunners.
The promises you’d make,
Worth the poison you drink
In the ink spilt for her:
Watercolours, sketches, the only howl
To tear your heart apart.


About DickensianJack

Born in Wolverhampton in November '93, moved to Huddersfield in September 2012. Studying at the University of Huddersfield. In love with the town - simple as that. As for the blog itself, I've been doing bits and pieces of writing (with varying quality) for a few years. A friend suggested I start a blog to share my work. Most of the stuff on here is poems, but there's other work interspersed on the page. Feel free to leave any comments on my work. Twitter: @DickensianJack (Jack Dickens) Facebook: www.facebook.com/dickensianjack Cheers, enjoy.
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