~*~ The Ghost of Lives Long Past *~
More faint than the weakest star’s reflection in my tears. More weak than a hallucination to my ears. And you were just a passing fancy, that never made his way passed me…. –C. 5/95
~*~ Rainbows ~*~
She doesn’t believe in anything
Been emotional for the sake of motion
And eventhough she’s a battlefield
She regrets that she can feel
She’s an unforgiving undertow in her ocean…
She doesn’t see it’s ok to be happy
Happiness is the riddle behind the crime
Cynical & faithless
She hides in her nowhere-princess eyes….
She doesn’t believe in anything
Throws stones just to shatter windows
And eventhough she’s a hand-grenade of moods that complicate
She’s a doll with her teardrops painted gold….
She doesn’t see that there’s no need to be lonely
She’s a runaway from the world outside
Tortured & loveless
She hides in her beaten princess eyes….
She can see the highway from her bedroom
She’s the New York City street lights
Dreaming & dreamless
She hides in her someday princess eyes…
Just like the Springtime’s drowning rain
She catches rainbows……
-C. (I wrote this on my 27th birthday – 8/17/95)
~*~ The Moon Upstairs ~*~
The lights on the boulevard commit suicide
All is vanity & poisonous pride
But I never thought that I was tough enough
To call a cab then call your bluff
Y’see, I walk on these avenues now & again
No time to talk, don’t need any friends
So maybe I’ll see you some other time
Cuz the moon upstairs is closed tonight…..
The sky is crying & the streets are wet
Seems like 100 years since we met
But formalities & fancy scenes are better off dead
So I guess I’ll wait another hundred years again
So I sit alone at the corner bar
With my paperback & my cuban ceegar
Sometimes I’m inspired when I look at the sky
But the moon upstairs is closed tonight…
I got a beat-up heart inside this beat-up gown
I got a ticket for the next plane to London town
So I catch my breath as I catch your eyes
But the moon upstairs is closed tonight..
Don’t hang with my heart strings…..
–C. ‘95
~*~ Soho ~*~
I never thought I’d make it back to New York
I never thought I’d ever want to stay
What I seem to touch these days never turns to gold
What I seem to want always turns to gray…..
The loneliness of a tear-drop habit is tough to break
We all chase something and that urgency won’t let me be
Has the endless race of a tragic angel gone to waste?
Y’know, my heart’s still broken but I’ll never forget the face…. –C. 10/95
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