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I loved you since the first time,
What a fool I was, (thinking you could heal my all fears).
Do you even recall what we set out to find?
I know now that we weren't even near.

Loved you more cause you were my first score
"say you'll remember, oh baby, say you'll remember
oh baby, you-"
That day was made from the dark stuff but it lived in the light.

It ended on Sunday, such a comedown Monday
I got cut up in school, thunderous thoughts
over-thinking you. So I started dealing
and became enslaved to the game.

Loved you more cause you were my first score
"say you'll remember, oh baby, say you'll remember
oh baby, you-"
That day was a better place, we were together, off our face.

Loved you more cause you were my first score
"say you'll remember, oh baby, say you'll remember
oh baby, you-"
That day, it's lost to me. I'm lost when I think of it.
Baby it was real
and we were the best.
Come on baby, decide.
Feel these colours without their light.
Choose your path, leave your steps behind.
Throw The Doors open and breach the other side.
Be definitive in your choice,
In this design.

Our fascination
with these compounds:
The amps, the tryps;
The sensation, experience.
They amphlify emotion,
We tryp over the empirical.
Come on, what are you waiting for? (The sun!)
This galaxy was meant for us; born.
We can escape to the great starshine.
Space cola.
Chad Tannous Apr 2020
Ms. Del Rey says “the world is made for two”,
but her idea of two is some fresh hell;
it’s seems that Lana thinks a girl’s abuse,
is cinematic fodder one can sell.
The other woman sings about her man.
“sO pOPuLIiSt” with flowers on her head.
While some may come from poor & tell the tale,
Del Rey wears being poor like it’s a dress. 
But voices that she channels in her songs,
Bespeak a femme fatale alone, and they,  
Are both no one, and everyone in one.
The guardians of endless summer days.
Sonnet (without the last two lines)  about Lana Del Rey.
jack cariad leon Mar 2020
I dream of becoming a world-recognized artist.

A glamorous one, appearing at the yearly Gucci runway shows. Gucci because Florence Welch clearly favors their designers.

I’ll be interviewed, either before or after the show, because journalists know people love reading about me.

I’ll tuck my hair behind my ear and bat my eyes like Courtney Love on Jules Holland, and I’ll be so disarmingly sweet.

Then one day I’ll coin a term without even really thinking about it: “I hate pseudo-creative types.”

“What do you mean by that?” that journalist will ask, enchanted into sincere interest.

I’ll give unimpressed smile, the kind Lana Del Rey is known for: “I mean people like James Franco.”
avery Apr 2019
I've been tearing around in my ******* nightgown
24/7 Sylvia Plath
Writing in blood on the walls
'Cause the ink in my pen don't work in my notepad
Don't ask if I'm happy, you know that I'm not
But at best, I can say I'm not sad
'Cause hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have
hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have...
not a poem, just lyrics that i cry to every day:)))
Jade Jan 2019
Sometimes,
I imagine I'm some
mourning starlet
who sings Lana Del Rey
at the club
every Saturday night.

A honeyed halo of stage light
tangles itself about
the curled labyrinth
of my hair,
sparkles gold against
my tearing irises.

My mouth parts
and the war cries begin.

In the moments that
the melody offers
my voice repose,
I pound shots to the beat
of the drummer's ramblings.

The crowd applauds
my tipsiness,
their hoots of praise
shaking at the depths
of my eardrums
like an intoxicated tambourine.

My neuroticism
fascinates these people,
I think.

Not in an
exploitive,
let's-glamourize-depression
kind of way,
but in an
it is a truth universally acknowledged
kind of way--in a
"*******, cuz I've been there too"
kind of way.

See,
within my little,
concocted fantasy
of stage light
and music
and *****,
the people don't judge me
the way they do
on the outside.

Here,
I am not
melodramatic or
overly sensitive or
disposable.

Here,
my war cries sound
a little less
like death and
a little more
like poetry.

Here,
they love me
in spite of the sadness.

Here,
we share a song--
here,
they sing with me.
Don't be a stranger--check out my blog!

jadefbartlett.wixsite.com/tickledpurple

(P.S. Use a computer to ensure an optimal reading experience)
Ceyhun Mahi Apr 2018
You used to be a lamp to nightly eyes,
       You are a star right now,
You used to be a rose so fine and nice,
        Where is that flower-brow?
You have become a woman, proud and pretty,
        Just like a crownless queen,
I cannot blame your growth and change and ties,
        You never had a vow.
A modified ruba'i. I had seen this form in a divan (collected poems) of an Ottoman poet once. I was inspired by Lana Del Rey and her older self as Lizzy Grant.
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