Bela Lugosis’s Dead* I grew up with an array of strange beautiful but toxic people in my youth. There was one specific friend that I shared particularly strange times with. His parents owned a video store (remember those?) and traveled to Vegas a lot, so naturally we’d throw parties when they were gone. One particular party was advertised on MySpace and over 100 people showed. We had 3 goth rock bands play in the living room (all of them played a version of Bela Lugosis’s Dead) and everyone there had brought some kind of narcotic. I tried to honor that night as best as I could remember it.
ever switch off a cadence?
ever watch hands triple in size?
ever see feet put out a fire?
a room full of strangers, gather…
a broken mirror theatre dance—wrists are scraped
a white dress walks a corpse through sugaR St.
loud trout mouths flick with hunger
pills are candy and candy—a distraction
spit traded for affirmation—
a pig’s head rots on the sacrum of transition from verse to bridge
where do we all die if not in the company of each other?