I'm seeing a litle girl in a lady suit.. a little girl facing a lonliness so monumental, all she can do is wrap her arms around it- hoping against hope that like everything she has ever held close, it will eventually go away.

I watched her while she painted her face and told her what she already knew. The better you look, the more you see. She didn't even turn from the mirror when she told me Baby, its a pirate's life for me. If I want it I take it, if I love it I leave it, and I've seen all that there is to see.

I heard her say once that the better you look, the more you see...She's the Victor to my Lauren Hynde.

She is more infection than obsession, I tell myself but no one else. An infection you cannot get out of your blood and this one can't seem to slip my mind. Infections are viral and my response to Chanel is visceral.

Soon...

She told someone in an accent that spoke of places never to have existed that her name was one that never sounded the same twice (Like lightning, I remember thinking). She told another stranger that she never spoke of the place from which she hailed. I believe she embodies this town and I've heard them call her Lethal.

She steps into the cafe and everyone's mind automatically flashes back to every wedding ring they've ever seen in a porno movie, every beautiful thing made ugly only by its surroundings ( Read more... )

I see her slithering among customers and employees with all the self assuredness of a sultry snake having just shed its awkward adolescent skin. She takes orders and steals breath as she sashays among tables and fallen tongues. She is my Ellis Island refugee as she bundles up in her babushka against the harsh Flint wind and words.

I saw her one afternoon at the neighborhood sandwich shop looking aloof as ever but with blood on her jeans. I picture her taking Casual Friday to a new extreme as in my mind she snakes her Coach belt around her delicate bicep and digs for hypodermic gold in the pale ditch of her arm. Her body tenses, then relaxes- pupils constrict then dilate, ( Read more... )

He likens her to every one-way street in Philedelphia because its all he remembers of the city. When he leaves this town, her memory is all he wants to take with him for she is his Midwest starlet- bound to go out in a blaze of cigarette smoke and whatshecallsglory.

I walk in to see a familiar sight. She's passed out again with a blank look on her face that speaks volumes of things one should never do to oneself and a spent cigarette still dangling from her long thin fingers- piano hands, she called them. Her fingernails are bitten to the quick and she sees nothing wrong with that because like she says, when ( Read more... )