Tuesday, December 29, 2015

Crotchfire: True Stories Of The Redhead, Tragic Memoir Four

Red hair.
White dress.
Who would’ve known we’d create this sordid mess?

Bright room.
Black suit.
Cold drink.
Useless conversation.

Overrated scenes of the wealthy posturing purely for the admiration of others.
Who lives like this?
I’m not a part of this “we” parading around this room.

You can overhear it:
“Lake house.”
“Skiing the Alps.”
“Racquet club.”

I look into those lonely green eyes
And I see the eyes of a child with a nanny
A teenage girl with a Range Rover
Sneaking young boys into the pool house

But you're 30
I'm 23
But it's just you repeating history.
Growing up in a created misery.
One bred in a mind of luxury.

I want to ask who hurt you. 
But I'm the one who's hurt. 
For you this is just life
And you know you can't get hurt. 



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