Poetry

Blood capsule around your neck,
undercut on your head,
everybody can see your f***ing scratched back,
it makes you proud,
it makes you powerful,
you think you look so beautiful…
 
You have a sick mind, Betty!
You have a twisted soul, Betty!
You have a black gothic heart,
and a fucking sick mind!
 
You’re afraid of the sun,
but your dark side won’t let you die.
You can do it all on your own,
in your heart there’s no sorrow.
 
Sex, drugs and alcohol,
gothic music, not rock and roll.
The Devil took your soul,
Betty, you’re so alone…