Written by John Grey
Art by Artem Saranin
Obsessed with shocking the world.
A self-described genius of the gutter.
Infatuated with the color black.
So many piercings, the more brutal the better.
A taste for raw meat,
only talked about, never consummated.
Yearning for the agony of real experience.
Violent by word, wound up by nature.
Not quite as vital as she thinks she is.
To love Jolene is to embrace
more contradictions than a woman’s prison.
Not lies, but more like labyrinths.
A pale white face with a penchant for biting her lip.
Eyes like flashlights, green and red.
Lighting cigarettes and barely smoking them.
Much drama. Many holes in stockings.
A fascination with death that she squanders on living.
A love of the darkest, dreariest heavy metal music.
But she hums Broadway tunes
when she thinks nobody’s listening.
Wears a cape as the zenith of her high fashion.
And many bracelets on both arms
that jingle like sleigh-bells.
But don’t ever tell her that.
Highlights of her bedroom poster collection:
Jim Morrison, Aleister Crowley,
Fields of the Nephilim.
Books: The 120 Days of Sodom
by the Marquise de Sade.
And then there’s that teddy bear with only one eye.
Black hair, careless with a comb.
Fingers thin as daisy stalks.
A diary nobody ever sees.
No dogs but a cat that may or not be hers.
A job at the local convenience store
sneering secretly at all those buying lottery tickets.
A father who drinks.
A mother who preaches.
And a hatred for that Dolly Parton song she was named after.
I hum that tune every time we meet.
So a hatred for me as well.