All I want is to be alone. Sunshine through the dirty blinds; a lack of oxygen watching American Psycho for the seventh time in a week. I am an exit, but deep inside I wish only to be beautiful. Self-preservation. Denial in the face of crowds. Illusionary conditions while drinking tea watching the morning news. Helicopters. Migraines. The desire to kiss wanting lips, only for the city to take them away. Leaves in the cemetery; bodies passing transitory. She has a face like the moon, and her eyes search mine to the sound of gunfire on Parisian streets. Just a girl but she belongs more than I ever will. They talk about money; they believe their lies and fuck like they mean it. I, however, can not. The night never ends. Constant neon expression. Continuous underground movement. Parties where they snort like pigs. Merging outlines as they search for a cure on the sidewalk as crowds dissolve in warehouses ready for the end. You’re not somebody’s shadow, so stop acting like one. You don’t feel complete by getting lost in the gaze of another; you do it by leaving behind a mark that’s inescapable. Take off my clothes, and cradle me like a baby. Help me survive when the rest left at the first sign of trouble. You can have my words, and you can have my love, but you have to deal with the shapes at the foot of my bed as well. They come together like a holy trilogy. I wish there were some other way, yet a wish is never enough. Damned pleasures for damned lovers; it’s all downhill from the moment you first open your eyes.