four hundred and seventy four.
Clenching your fist, for the ones like us, who are oppressed by the figures of beauty.
You fixed yourself, you said well never mind, we are ugly but we have the music.
four hundred and seventy three.
To make a mountain of your life is just a choice but I never learned enough to listen to the voice that told me:
Always love, hate will get you every time. Always love, don’t wait till the finish line.
four hundred and seventy two.
I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel. You were talking so brave and so sweet. Giving me head on the unmade bed while the limousines wait in the street.
I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel. You were famous, your heart was a legend. You told me again you preferred handsome men but for me you would make an exception.
