In the middle of my book, compressed is a portrait of you
My book shielding me from the image of you
Your notorious eyes, sinful lips, blowing a blunt to slow down the madness brewing in your eyes
Those same eyes that were my muse
They hold the same glimmer and sadness but have been replaced by the warmth of the sun
But It's October 7th and the sun is down
Im standing in the beach with the Waves drifting from my toes
Back in your room with yellow cigarette butts cluttering your floor
October night giving me chills to my bones
Warming myself up with a beer
The smell of whiskey weighing the air, masking the stench of the carcass laying on the bed
her perfume lingering on your sheets, keeping you company
And once again you're stuck in the cycle of lonely nights
with her perfume covering your decaying youth
And me reminiscing the color yellow