lily

My dreams speak to me in tongues with my head on her shoulder, that english prostitute with the glass eye. we rode together, that whole lonely night with handcuffs on, and outside all the stars were dying. As of recently all of my dreams have been apocolyptic. So where to go from here? stay in this city surrounded by these C list celebrities feeding me sugary lies. Bob Dylan is my constant soundtrack. I have been watching angels die since i was a little girl. First was my mother, Most recently is a girl i think i love a little too much, Her spanish accent breaks my heart. Her, a philosiphy scholar living in sin wondering if the heavens will forgive her, I told her that they already do. Are we all puppets in this game? I long to speak to my old lovers, lost in the chaos of mexico and california, Lost in the chaos of a past i wish i could crawl back to, naked and shaking on my knees.
Now, All i want to do is dream, That was what the opiate needle was for, I just feel things so intensely and everyone around me is an apparent zombie wrapped up in a material world of bullshit. I just didn't want to feel, and he turned to me and called me an "empath", He said it can be a lonely world when theres so very few of us. I wish for my dead road dog to sing me to sleep, "Maybe one breathe away, I'll find the words to say.", I can wish all night but reality will always set in, still its cold, Still nothing grows and beatiful demons come whisper obscenities in my ear, to go reach for that telephone number of my puerto rican gangster with all of his gun shot wounds, crumpled in a garbage can somewhere and ask him to sell me some of my ex lover/poison, My veins are thirsty but my mind is strong, and all the angels that have died before me know just what the answer is: Sleep.
Love, Lily
P.s. I have court tomorrow, cross your fingers for me