Buried beneath shards of trepidation,

cut up and bleeding all inspiration,

she chokes on, then spits up,

black admiration.

She’s just a girl.

Not a church.

Keep your congregation.

Stop passing the plate.

Boys, DAMN, 
Let’s see some hesitation.
Your all nice on the eyes, 
but she's trying to be her own salvation.

Oh, she’ll play your game of verbal stimulation,
while admiring your sparkly ornamentation,
Because,

She's far too plain to sit sullen

‘midst life’s decoration,

Yet,

She’s not worthy of

love’s sweetest celebration.

So Singular.

Lone.

She’ll stick to her own delectable masturbation.

~j