We are young.
We are young and we are old.
We are broken,
sitting in the shattered glass of the night before;
our eyes glistening with the whispers
of yesterdays fantasies.
We are *****.
***** goddesses,
tossed down to earth,
landing in the landfills of our own remorse.
We became inhabitants of the night
as we tried to create new destinies.
We searched.
Searched for a reflection of ourselves;
in bars near St Marks,
on late night train rides,
pungent with the smell of ***** and dry *****,
in stranger’s rustled sheets,
in the places we once called home,
and the people who we once recognized,
or who once recognized us;
but the mirrors were always *****.
Our fuel to create is the same fuel,
The same fuel that drives us,
To break windows at five in the morning,
it keeps us in stranger’s beds,
the back of ambulances,
passed out in showers and cursing the night
with a ghoulish cry.
We are young.
Young and filled with a spirit of lust
The spirit of those who are banned from the night,
those who feet aren’t blackened from the cold, grimy streets.
We are old.