Death of a Virgin

Never cut
So pure, it goes straight for the veins
Interesting how some things in life remain
Pure and others become intoxicated
So the mind is both sober
And infiltrated
She kept her chin up
Bright eyed full of luck
Or unlucky how things changed so quickly
Her mood rings was always cycling
A shifting dis-chord makes a sound breakdown
But her instruments played for the hell of it
And when hell was its hottest
She turned to the note in the bottle
Her sips became movements
That would sedate her sexuality
Eventually kept it covered up but told everyone about it
2nd movement was amusement
Just to see where the road would take her
3rd movement (break)
was the one that landed on her dress
She was a mess by then so it was
On to the 4th movement
To buy some security
Insure her responsibility was hanging on her key ring
Which she needed a driver
But learned to do her thing
So underneath the bottle she sipped from
Everything she ever ran away from
She never let go
Next to the get-away, hanged her day to day
So she kept her legs closed,
Can’t let her God’s secret be so exposed
Not because it was God’s but because
It was her last gift to him
And the backlash from not having a present
Meant she felt out of place at the party
So she kept in a box
No matter how many drinks she knocked back
Even went on her knees in servitude
In a pseudo prayer it would stay locked up
And love wouldn’t leave
But problems were cyclical and crescendo’ing
So sips became more frequent
And less decent
No one got passed the box, though
Because no one knew where her heart was
It held the key to it
And they both had the same locks
However, hearts grow cold
And objects in life can get lost in ice
However with no caution to take the wind
Nothing ever changed
Nothing to solve her problems and few to look for the key
So she married her bottle
But they never conceived, only conceptually
Until what poured out her wrist was
Her alcohol and sexuality.