|Victoria Frances Is Love|
fathers residenceWe, the residents of our fathers residence, found his name to be a key.fathers residence by guy011
The gates of hell opened for us, and we spat ourselves right back out.
We were the pandars of clean joy,
pimps of old fashioned fun.
When we followed the trail of our fathers footsteps to the door of some club,
it was clouded by the smoke of weed.
I found the best parties to be back at home,
in bed, in my head, with cake and candles.
Along with balloons.
And party poppers.
And a brigade of children charging to the playtime pit,
me leading the assault.
It was nostalgia,
they were the memories of a life never to be again,
that kept the future bearable.
We had only father's dingy yellow walls left,
a billion feet wide, boxing us on.
We kissed a thousand girls,
after a dinner date with each
and a walk to the door for all.
The beligerant narcissists could not touch us,
we were their bloodline kings,
the usurperous monarchs of the time.
Our subjects suffered a plague that they partied in,
and telling them apart was diffi