f(or) (l)uck.(i don't want to fuck this up)whiskey stars hide me in,this distilled, sugary meaning of sin—it's lingering on my skin.(i don't want to fuck this)unruly royals and dying weed,let them bleed—it's for us to read.(i don't want to fuck)drunken lips paint me down;paint my defeat without a sound,but let wrists figure this one out.(i don't want to)cigarette poets, underfed—i'm thirsty of what they've said;don't be dead.(i don't want)this is not making any sense—to hell with suspense.i'm one of their patients.(i don't)romance—a drunken dance,infested with drunken ants...(i)you scoundrel, you,kiss my lips a brighter hue—maybe a tattoo...( )kiss me for luck.kiss me—f(or) (l)uck.