Teenage Riot, chapter 2
Turn off lights tonight.
I wanna forget about today until tommorrow.
Kyra's POV
I dont feel free tonight. I woke up alone, as always. My room was dark, my things were in the same place. My notebook, my pen, the light came down the same way. I found myself staring at the white point of the window, where you see the city lights invading the kingdom. The lights always slip in my nightmares. Daydream nightmares. Funny ain't it?
Well, in here it ain't so funny. To live I have to dream, to dream I have to live. This life has nothing, but wishes. Everything here is hope. Nothing is concrete. Its all so lame.... There are just wandering wishes lost in here.
I take off my clothes letting them fall apart, ]I open the curtains. I like the way they flow, in slow erratic movements, so graceful, so fine. They remind me of ballerine. So perfect and yet so fragile. Depending from the catarsis of the claping hands. So dependant on the sweetness of their winter roses. YES. Thats it ballerines are like winter roses, growing up on the pale sky. Loosing petal to the hawling winds. Colapsing in the last chord of the waltz.
I wish, I was a ballerine and I would fly in the earth. White roses would arrive into my arms. On a dark room, just like this one. If I would be a dancer I would escape the shadows haunting me. If I was a ballerine I would see beauty on this room. I would create a drama out a smile. I would dance with the lights of this city.
This city...
New york really has it all.
And now I look at the city...
This city needs no words to be described. It has its own light. New York is a black jewel. Always shining in the darkness of the night. Liz says, New York needs nothing, exept people, to keep moving it.
Maybe she is right. Paris is the city of the lights, but Paris is so sublime, beauty in its purest state. New York is movement, its music. New York tells storys about crimes, about violence, about desperation, about sex, about trips, about anxiety. New York speaks, and thats why I will let this words vanish into the night. There is no need of words tonight. Hopefully I'll fade into the night myself, and I will dissapear in the sound of freedom.
I wanna forget today until tommorrow.
So I open the drawer and reach for the coke. See the powder on my hands, See the power in my hands. I place it on my hand and blow it away. Like holidays on funerals. Stars sparkling in the sky. Blowing through the wind. I breath the air of sickness.
Lets pull cosmos up my nose. Singing stars of the night. Singing stars of the night.
I wanna forget about today until tommorrow.
Kyra's POV
I dont feel free tonight. I woke up alone, as always. My room was dark, my things were in the same place. My notebook, my pen, the light came down the same way. I found myself staring at the white point of the window, where you see the city lights invading the kingdom. The lights always slip in my nightmares. Daydream nightmares. Funny ain't it?
Well, in here it ain't so funny. To live I have to dream, to dream I have to live. This life has nothing, but wishes. Everything here is hope. Nothing is concrete. Its all so lame.... There are just wandering wishes lost in here.
I take off my clothes letting them fall apart, ]I open the curtains. I like the way they flow, in slow erratic movements, so graceful, so fine. They remind me of ballerine. So perfect and yet so fragile. Depending from the catarsis of the claping hands. So dependant on the sweetness of their winter roses. YES. Thats it ballerines are like winter roses, growing up on the pale sky. Loosing petal to the hawling winds. Colapsing in the last chord of the waltz.
I wish, I was a ballerine and I would fly in the earth. White roses would arrive into my arms. On a dark room, just like this one. If I would be a dancer I would escape the shadows haunting me. If I was a ballerine I would see beauty on this room. I would create a drama out a smile. I would dance with the lights of this city.
This city...
New york really has it all.
And now I look at the city...
This city needs no words to be described. It has its own light. New York is a black jewel. Always shining in the darkness of the night. Liz says, New York needs nothing, exept people, to keep moving it.
Maybe she is right. Paris is the city of the lights, but Paris is so sublime, beauty in its purest state. New York is movement, its music. New York tells storys about crimes, about violence, about desperation, about sex, about trips, about anxiety. New York speaks, and thats why I will let this words vanish into the night. There is no need of words tonight. Hopefully I'll fade into the night myself, and I will dissapear in the sound of freedom.
I wanna forget today until tommorrow.
So I open the drawer and reach for the coke. See the powder on my hands, See the power in my hands. I place it on my hand and blow it away. Like holidays on funerals. Stars sparkling in the sky. Blowing through the wind. I breath the air of sickness.
Lets pull cosmos up my nose. Singing stars of the night. Singing stars of the night.
