Wednesday, July 28, 2010

B is for Picker Girls

She clings to me like picker on rugged jeans.
She clings to me…
Won’t let me go.
She clings to me like picker on rugged jeans
If I touch her I’ll be pained again.

Wrap my arms round the thorns
The blood enhances the scent of roses
Needlessly vicious.
Should I die to become victorious?

She clings to me like picker on rugged jeans.
She clings to me…
Won’t let me go.
She clings to me like picker on rugged jeans
If I touch her I’ll be pained again.

Five to fourteen needle points
Pricks my heart
It beats a thousand beats a second
Five to fourteen needle points
Do not cling to me like the pickers that I walked through
That stay on my clothes like yesterday’s sweat
And cologne
You,
You nah.
You, you little prick.
You who make your bed beneath me
Stuck in the fabric
Stuck in the pores
Stuck to me like a pain in a roving blade of grass
Or a rose…

Five to fourteen needle points
Pricks my heart
It beats a thousand beats a second
Five to fourteen needle points

She clings to me like picker on rugged jeans.
She clings to me…
Won’t let me go.
She clings to me like picker on rugged jeans
If I touch her I’ll be pained again.

© July 27th, 2010
Tracy j Hutchings

picker is basically small thorns that stick up on you...

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