Take another bite at me,
my muscles nice and loose
ten years too sore

Twist me with your worst grin,
make me yours, I dare you
a bite of the apple in my core.

Everyone leaves their mark,
a disfiguring opinion
coming together like scissor blades.

I wasn't born your god damn snowflake,
but I fear I'll die that way
strung up, in holiday parades.

Replace me, darling one,
no shirt no shoes, all service
in a window mascara painting.

Amsterdam loves a slut like me,
ready, willing, and cocaine-able
this bleeding-gums smile keeps me from fainting.

In seventy years,
when my gears turn to dust
and my writing life finally spills out 
onto the floor.

Go ahead and take me death.
And if there's anything left
Take a bite,
of the apple at my core.