Its
all-night diamonds, Champagne and cars. We hit traffic
doing
fifty, inching towards Brentwood, walking like we
languish.
Its cameo love, partial hugs, a room full of pain.
Such
for sorrow, to puff cigars, as patient as portraits. I
maze
a riddle, to pound a shot, a sphinx to speak; for
there
she stands, draped in charcoal, a drop of blood. I
pass
a napkin, barely seventeen, a fist full of skulls. Ours
was
brief, ever a greenhorn, to speak as a sphinx. I’m
glass
to shot, to decode lyric, to look up to it. We live in
secret,
pyramid wrists, to whisper Illuminati. I
never knew,
to
purchase wealth, the last to know. So deep, for so
shallow,
wide-eyed with passion. Here’s a Bentley, a billion
dollar
woman, a gait to kill. I glance for length, to notice
distance,
a cold sensation. We skate next door, burgundy
lights,
for cocaine homes. I’m too young to hear, with a
dreamy
soul, stuck on beauty. We perish to live, surfing
melancholy,
pitching emeralds. I’m too far for gone, sipping
dark
poison, to marvel at life.
