She pulls up to the studio
takes a deep breath
and travels inside
her legs floating as she galloped
then begins to scream out her lungs
singing about her
rage
hurt
misery
how life is torture
and when shes done
she hops back into her Ferrari
flicks on the heated seats
and enjoys the sound of her music playing on the radio
its cold outside
her neck aches
so she climbs into the shower
the heat of the water pounding on her neck
the smoke lifting her away
she combs her beautifully died hair over to one side
cotton pajamas or silk?
on goes the silk
it feels good combined with
Victoria's secret body lotion
in the living room
she gazes at the remotes
trying to remember which one is for the flat screen
finally
she found it
now what channel was HBO again
its hard to keep track with a bagillion and one channels
she leaps on her leather couch
nearly drowning in the cushions
and quickly decides to sleep
through the kitchen
dining room
guest room
playroom
recording studio
and weight room
she ceases
and lets herself flop down on her temper pedic bead
and is dragged into a world of her own
a world of her dreams
when the next day comes
she rushes to the studio
right on time
this song isn't about her rage
but about her feelings toward the earth
how she wants to die
hide in a corner
but on the inside
she is there
her only real problem
having to choose which of the eight remotes control
the surround sound.
in the end
i think well all be OK
