Stomping on in dervish manner in leather and laced martens to driving groove
Playing doctor nursing spiked hair pointing cutting sky high and angry
The mosh pit grinds to a screeching halt with gaped mouths and curious furious stares
As a little sister punk-ette all in pitch black and chains from ear to toe shining with thorn rosey cheeks from the steamy heat of body to body
she approaches the monstrous mash with thunderous bravado smashing in like juicy grapes plucked from twisted vines
Starting in with steady stance stunning the Holsteins of the night until she wants to go home
Twisting into flesh like a corkscrew music pulses and throbs deep plucking
out note for note beat for beat
Chains and cat-o-nine tails flick up towards cracking sound barriers through
limelight shadowing out the glow of beaded sweat and spinning bodies
Bested and staid smokescreens shiver on stage with mics badgered with gutteral
As the cacophony settles into syncopation peppered with salt to a wound
amplifying sound into melting earwax like frost in sun
Ruining again angst strapped up shoots from tips of boots laced
leather taut as the pain subsides in her head as the pit grows wilder
Dance, little sister, dance
The night is yours and you are young
BohoChickRising.com 