#lanadelrey
put my headphones on and i‘m gone.
cancel the voices and mute the noises.
but i still aim for the corner to keep up my rhythm
– to not get overstimulated by all the figures around me who my mind is not capable to reach out- or spin a yarn to.
it seems that it‘s just a natural reaction like a thunderstorm following after a hot, muggy summer day that steals your breath. but is it really?
i am a ghost who just floats above the abyss of disappearance.
a ghost who is invisible but opaque – like yin and yang.
i am an outsider from the outside,
but an insider from the inside.
boring and fun.
one-sided and diverse.
i am seen distorted through the ocean when it seems that everyone else keeps swimming at the surface of it.
no depth but a surface with a lack.
a lack that fixes me.
a conduit which allows the light to shine through.
a tunnel that prevents the ghost of me from plunging into the abyss of being forgotten.
… did you know that there‘s a tunnel under the surface?
when you know, consider opening the gate to it from time to time to let the light in, even if it does not seem to move the ghost at the end of the tunnel.
trust me, it does move his heart.
even on his blackest day.
May 11
May 11, 2026 at 12:26 PM UTC
There I lay on the cool grass, the cold wind on my face,
my eyes shut as I began to create nothingness,
darkness and emptiness. Who am I, my soul bared?
And then I dreamt, my darkness gave birth.
Like a painter giving life to a blank canvas,
I gave life to my endless thoughts, my void of emptiness,
and soon there was light—
pictures, words, sounds, dreaming.
I dreamt myself a new life. I was a curious poet
traveling the vast earth in search of a new muse, and for this dream,
a star was inscribed into my empty space
like words jotted on paper.
The star illuminated my empty space,
lit up my soul, as it held within its fiery life my dreams.
and the poet resided in its light, patiently waiting.
And so it began, an endless cycle of creation and destruction—
my empty space, brightening with the light of my dreams.
But for each star that was born, another was torn from my soul.
For each dream that crumbled, another formed in its place.
And time is not my friend. I was uncertain which star I would hold in the end,
because I knew I wanted them all.
And as I lay beneath the fig tree, reality convoluted upon itself—
it began to fade, as my mind searched, dreamt, and cried for more.
But time is not my friend, and time future does not exist in time present.
And time past can never be regained—fragmented memories,
left to the whispers of history.
And in this space of uncertainty, my soul lay bare, sure of only one thing:
I had successfully dreamt away my life.
Oct 13, 2024
Oct 13, 2024 at 4:51 PM UTC
You left me crying in the hotel bathroom
You left me spying in the restaurant too
You saw me for who I am
Then went up and ran
While I’m working on my tan
Trying not be who I am
Gotta stop begging you to stay
And turning up the Lana del rey
Cause I’m no one’s Brooklyn baby
I’m feeling just a bit crazy
Jan 21, 2024
Jan 21, 2024 at 5:26 AM UTC
Maybe in an alternate universe,
we worked out.
To
broken promises
&
unfinished relationships,
To
the
random stranger
you
lock eyes with
on
the
street,
And wish you knew.
To
the
smiling baby
in
a
lady's arms,
You wish was yours.
To
the
entwined fingers
of
a
passing couple,
which would have been yours,
if only he stayed.
But maybe?
Just maybe?
But hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have.
May 28, 2023
May 28, 2023 at 10:55 AM UTC
watching the clouds from my plane seat
listening to Lana Del Rey speak
compounding words and motifs
wondering how this all came to be
me in the sky, diamonds in my eyes
and worry draped over me
trap me in the mind, time after time
the power of potent poetry
Mar 31, 2023
Mar 31, 2023 at 7:00 AM UTC
& so my nightly routine begins...
1.) I turn on my unreleased Lana Del Rey mixtape
2.) light my last cigarette
3.) turn off the lights
4.) crawl into my unmade bed
5.) cuddle up to my favorite stuffed animal
6.) and I begin to cry
7.) then finally... sleep comes for me.
8.) & the nightmares begin.
Oct 24, 2022
Oct 24, 2022 at 11:18 PM UTC
when i write
i always find myself wishing that i wrote like Lana del Rey,
making even the simple things seem extraordinarily grand, to be able to glamorize what is sometimes a painfully normal life
i want to touch someone's skin
and write about it in a way that makes someone feel as though they're touching velvet
i want the kiss we shared
to linger on someone's lips like the taste of their favorite chapstick
i want to write about love
so that in turn someone will lust for what i already have
i want to write about my years of pain and isolation in a way that makes someone want to rip their own heart out and offer it up to me on a platter made of shimmering, sterling silver
which, of course
i'd have to refuse
because what would a writer be if surrounded by love and admiration they knew was real, that they didn't doubt for even a second
although, the sensuality of the circumstance might be tempting
an artist without eternal, incessant suffering
is merely a wolf in sheep's clothing
or a fool who thinks he's a king
they simply aren't built to last
i want to write about my mid-night thoughts and for someone to think: Lana would be proud
Jul 27, 2022
Jul 27, 2022 at 11:46 PM UTC
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.
Apr 23, 2020
Apr 23, 2020 at 11:57 AM UTC
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...
Apr 29, 2019
Apr 29, 2019 at 2:30 AM UTC
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.
Jan 16, 2019
Jan 16, 2019 at 11:24 PM UTC
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.
Apr 18, 2018
Apr 18, 2018 at 1:08 PM UTC
I don't want to continue.
I feel I lack the strength
For many reasons that weigh
Heavy on my chest.
Constricting my breathing of this life.
Jan 6, 2018
Jan 6, 2018 at 10:07 AM UTC
I'm happiest alone in my blue room
When the new moon
Brings hymns from my blue muse
Curled up in my blue egg
Bought some new Keds
Now I'm spinning blue webs
You didn't mean to do this
But you really blue this
Turning everything so blueish
We may just be two fish
But I don't know who this
Swimming soul is who could do this
I dug up some blue blooms
To fill my blue bath with fumes
While my bottle consumes
these blue veins like reigns how the hurricaine looms
I don't want to play with you boy
This blue pen is my favorite toy
I'm a kind kitten who doesn't **** coy
You can kick me til I'm sick and then make me lick the wounds
And from far away I'll meow to you blue blue tunes
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 10:52 PM UTC
Upon the waves there's being surfed,
And at cafes delights are served,
While the orange sun shares a ray,
At the end of the glowing day.
A summertime sadness and glee,
Is played alongside of the sea,
Who is rosy, pink as the sky,
As the beautiful waves pass by.
Jul 29, 2017
Jul 29, 2017 at 9:30 AM UTC
Lace my waist
Until I can no longer breathe
My sweet darling
Your fevered skin burns
As sweet as the most sickly candy
And I hold my bones
And you softly, gently,
**** me a little more
Each time that your ***** blue lips
Graze my porcelain skin
And you stop breathing
Just for a while
And the snow drips in my throat
Even then,
I feel nothing.
Your narcotic dove, a hand on her neck
And her soul remains
Empty
May 24, 2017
May 24, 2017 at 9:30 AM UTC
I Remember how the party was clear as day
Sneaking out and looking to fade away
Lighting a cigarette with red wine
(Pabst Blue Ribbon on ice)
Sweet sixteen and she had arrive
Fixing her dress as she whispered hi, hi
Never knew how she made it so far
Teachers said she'd never make it out alive
There she was my new best friend
casual smoke filled the festive air
While she starts to laugh, holding her shaded lipstick in her other hand
Oh Ana, how I love those guys
Jan 15, 2017
Jan 15, 2017 at 5:59 PM UTC
You used to be a silent night,
Who was off from success afar.
But now that you are shining bright,
You have become a famous star.
Dec 20, 2016
Dec 20, 2016 at 8:30 AM UTC
I paint my nails black
I dye my hair a darker shade
of brown
'Cus you like your women
spanish, dark, strong, and proud
I paint the sky black
You said if you could have your way
You'd make a night time all today
So it'd suit the mood of your soul
Oh, what can I do?
Nothing, my sparrow blue.
Oh, what can I do?
Life is beautiful but you don't have a clue.
Sun and ocean blue
Their magnificence
It don't make sense to you
Black beauty
Black beauty
I paint that house black
My wedding dress black leather too
You have no room for light
Love is lost on you
I keep my lips red
To seem like cherries in the spring
Darling, you can't let everything
Seem so dark blue
Oh, what can I do?
To turn you on
Or get through you
Oh, what can I do?
Life is beautiful but you don't have a clue
Sun and ocean blue
Their magnificence
It don't make sense to you
Black beauty
Black beauty
Black beauty
Black beauty
Black beauty
Black beauty, baby
Black beauty, baby
Oh, what can I do?
Life is beautiful but you don't have a clue
Sun and ocean blue
Their magnificence
It don't make sense to you.
Dec 22, 2015
Dec 22, 2015 at 10:40 PM UTC
Her face, flawless and filtered, flows over
my chest, ribs, stomach, hips, fitting the curved
mounds of my body, and even within simplicity
of thread and dye, I sense her presence as her face
hangs from my frame, a statement louder than pillow-lips,
Nancy Sinatra-hair and a glamorous 60’s ***** face.
When paired with leggings and an artfully-distressed denim jacket,
I become a member of the “freshman generation of degenerate
beauty queens,” a hipster fallen to the circumstance of youth,
but I wear her face and the romance of it all reminds me:
we are not defined as Lolitas lost in the hood, or distant,
airy voices in a sea of crude jokes and half-baked skits
meant to highlight shortcomings of a person who doesn’t give
two ***** Lana fits me better than my ribbed, red
sweater and even amidst gods and monsters,
this T-shirt makes pretty last, and I am just as cool.
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 12:33 PM UTC