rasputin loves me more than you
and i could sit and watch his wasp-throat clench
all day.

instead i churn out pathetic movements
with spittle flying
bruised cheek, beer piss freak
of me.

and i know just whose life im sucking
out of the nineties
my hair isnt red but it could be
my hearts not stopped but it should be.

i'll show you how pretty our limbs can get
twisted, wet, around my neck