If a writer falls in love with you, you can never die.

Σάββατο, 29 Αυγούστου 2015

Shiny Disco Ball

Okay, wipe last night's mascara from under your eyes. No more panda eyes for you girl.

Get up. Splash some water on your face.

Throw away those old dirty shoes. The soles are worn, they pinch your feet.

They're not even high enough.

Now, take out that pair. Yeah, you know which one I'm talking about. You've got the legs and the attitude to match.

Considering the size of this place, its exhausts you in unfathomable ways. Maybe it's the people. Maybe it's the mentality.

Maybe they can't understand how you can dance all night under that shiny disco ball in heels.

And do it with a smile.

Δευτέρα, 17 Αυγούστου 2015

I Used To Write On Walls

I stood on the familiar corner of whatever and whatever.

Cigarette between my fingers.

I look up at that gorgeous summer night sky.

I bring that cigarette to my lips.

I inhale.

I am where I used to be.

Standing on a familiar corner.

But I breathe you out.

Out.

Out and up and away.

I dropped you in a sea as deep and dark as my soul.

Am I free? I don't know.

But on that very evening, on that very corner I know the very little detail of it, I breathed you out and watched that smoke dissolve into the nothingness of the night.

I'm here again.

Home.

And this time, I didn't keep you with me.

It was unfamiliar.

But soothing at the same time.

I looked up at what used to be my window.

Took that final drag.

And threw you and that cigarette butt away.

I felt lighter walking up the street after that.

And as I meshed into the noise of the street I told myself "Kid, I don't know how, but it's gonna be okay".

And strangely enough, I actually believed it.