Bitter teenage angst, regret, sweat, freaking out and believing in something more powerful than love or darkness or self hatred. Standing on a corner in the cold, fallen angels and hipsters wince as acid snowflakes burn in empty bellies. Crayon dreams are more real in this pale streetlamp glow. Tonight we are living the high life, smoking cigarettes and taking cabs uptown. Slinking homeward before dawn, shaking the last tendrils of enjoyment from the evening just before the sun comes up. In this crowded room hopes burn bright as heroes fly into our lives with words and music. Idolatry, paltry faded heroes, charmless, flawless beauties. Freaky people, hippies and kids clutter up our lives, drink in our lies. We are all nothing but beautiful stars in an ever paling sky. The coffee is hot and sweet tonight, here in the caf�, where we smoke and choke and watch as others climb the walls. Sometimes beauty floods this dirty place. Music fills the heart of this city, every once and a while. Flaming, falling, praying. Words stretch out into disjointed fragments -- not sentences, we do not make sense here. Here in this town, where we all get around. Blue baby eyes stare out into the dull as the noise rises up from the street, like bubbles rising from the page. It brightens, enlightens, deafens, turns 360 degrees and fizzles out. Here in this overgrown garden we breathe in the caustic yellow light until all that�s left is darkness. Creeps, geeks and punk rockers line the walls tonight, tucked away, they hide, slinking quietly into jade green seas of springtime. Filling our hearts, our minds, our lives. On a night like this we are born, reborn and born again into velvet lies, where our hearts shatter into a million tiny stars spreading across a silken sky.
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