Ultraviolet


I got the white girl blues
again Momma;
standing here skinny
under fat blue lights
faces all around me
shining in the rain,
smiling through the mud
as though it was a face-pack
they gift for free

and here’s me, singing my blues
like I was recording
someone else’s suicide note
on a dictaphone,
going over and over the same old
tunes, stripping my skin
like I’m tearing used paper

but feeling nothing,
Momma. No smiles
for your little girl to smile,
she just wants to run and hide,
drown her head in a bucket
till she finds new air
to breathe, new songs to sing.

Momma, I hate my life
but I still want to live.
I’m tired of the saloons, the songs
and the blues: it’s time
to get the hell out of Dodge.