Early morning, sleeping in an abandoned warehouse in brooklyn. Talk to me like something real, my fingers are peeling and decaying, giving birth to something new while something old lingers, lost shadows following me around. He said "You want to die like a rockstar and live like Jack Kerouac." Give me some coffee or a hit of crack cause its too early in the morning for revelations. I spit only cruelty until he walked away and then smiled at this stupid victory....
You don't have to be a zombie just cause you live in this city man. They all keep walking, talking, fucking, having stupid pointless human interactions in red light consumers paradises built all around them, run to the subways to ride the underground dark waves of this city.
Stressed cause they are six minutes late for work but they are twenty something years late for LIFE. I ask her to sing to me in the morning just like this lady that birthed me used to, i don't remember her voice though, last time i heard it i was in a jail cell whispering lies into the cold telephone. She's somewhere up there, and i'm still persephone. Still its cold. Still nothing will grow. I can find numbness in a bathroom stall and comfort on pages, blank or full. I can still hear her singing sometimes......"How many roads must a man walk down before you can call him a man".....24 more days or so of this so called freedom which i believe is nonexistant in this country but still i fight for it anyway.
LOVE, Lily
You don't have to be a zombie just cause you live in this city man. They all keep walking, talking, fucking, having stupid pointless human interactions in red light consumers paradises built all around them, run to the subways to ride the underground dark waves of this city.
Stressed cause they are six minutes late for work but they are twenty something years late for LIFE. I ask her to sing to me in the morning just like this lady that birthed me used to, i don't remember her voice though, last time i heard it i was in a jail cell whispering lies into the cold telephone. She's somewhere up there, and i'm still persephone. Still its cold. Still nothing will grow. I can find numbness in a bathroom stall and comfort on pages, blank or full. I can still hear her singing sometimes......"How many roads must a man walk down before you can call him a man".....24 more days or so of this so called freedom which i believe is nonexistant in this country but still i fight for it anyway.
LOVE, Lily
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take care.
Much Love to you, Lily of the Valley.