I’m the mold on the prom corsage,
lipstick smeared like a hemorrhage;
I kiss your name just to taste the rust,
spit it back in a cloud of dust.
Daddy’s dollars in my ripped-up bra,
buying bullets for my sweet hurrah.
Hallelujah, I’m the stain you can’t scrub—
bless me, curse me, I never wake up.