Picture Elvis

She breathes through the book. Measures a picture there. Picks up a knife. Cuts it to wallet size. Now she has lived. Now she has breathed. Now she's tasted heaven but the trip dosen't sting. And all she wanted was a photograph (alright). Rain on my tounge. Feels like I'm tasting God. Silver and gold. Drinking the riches up. Back to the night and if I died I'm going to ask my questions on the other side. And all she wanted was a photograph. Mask of the city hangs in mock deliberation. I step outside while the sun strips off my cocaine. Bent like a banshee while my cup is overflowing. Another brutal ending. I know I'm animal story telling. And she breathes through the book. Said that she never knew. Question is easy but the answer is hard to take. The binding cracks. The words will fade, but she keeps the picture in the frame that she made. And all she wanted was a photograph. All she wanted was a photograph. All she wanted was a photograph. All she wanted was a photograph. All she wanted was a photopraph.

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