The Architecture of Loneliness and Silk
I’ve spent three years in a glass tower downtown, perfecting the
Cinderella’s Coach
The Sterile Warmth of an Expensive Lie
I walk down this corridor of blue light, feeling like a piece
Ice Cubes and The Illusion of Peace
I’m holding this glass of iced tea like it's
The Sterile Sanctuary of Skin and Steam
My city is a concrete machine that grinds souls into fine gray
Sun-Kissed Lies and Saltwater Skin
He calls this 'healing.' A weekend getaway to a beach
The Silk Trap of Modern Solitude
They told me this kimono would make me look like a dream,
The Art of Performing Innocence
I’ve spent three hours perfecting this 'spontaneous' spin in
The Commuter's Quiet Desperation
I stand on this platform, a living advertisement for youth and purity
The Cost of Being an Angel in the Concrete Jungle
I’ve mastered the art of looking like I was born from
The Linen Alibi for Longing
I’m wearing ivory linen—the official uniform of women who want
Mint-Flavored Isolation on the 42nd Floor
I’m wearing a dress that looks like it was spun from
The Nocturne of Calculated Longing
I’ve been playing this Chopin piece for twenty minutes, not because
