and then i saw a photograph of someone not édith piaf and then my world began to swirl and spin. a person oh so intricate, their eyes two separate syndicates (aside from a poor conversation, oh...)
but only if i could feel your skin on mine, i would. instead, i'm eating poutine and taking three shots at eleven in the morning.
dear, here's a rose, don't you let it implode. it's just a rose, it'll cause you pain. from thorns you'll be built up and never really the same from polluting your body, the drugs that you take. i remember when i said "if you want to feel good, never hesitate". if only i knew the pleasures always get away from you.
oh, because i saw a photograph of someone not édith piaf and certainly not kevin spacey too. no, someone much more real than that, a single person without a name who took my eyes and made them never the same.
i walk the halls, i walk the streets, i try to focus on my feet to make sure that i don't slip and fall. the ice isn't there but it feels so cold, so out of caution i'll walk slowly and prepare for the worst.
the city says it's in repose, but i'd argue it's about to explode. i'm sure édith piaf wouldn't allow this, she'd find some way to make it bliss through vintage photographs and what we calm our minds with! i'm sure she'll come save the day someday, it is just a matter of how long i'll really wait.
dear, yes, that's a rose, why did you let it explode? it was just a rose, it caused you pain. from thorns you've been built up and you've never been the same.