As the sun sets, meanwhile my life’s a Virginia Woolf mess, smoking and daydreaming, wishing I could go back to the start.

Embracing folly and beautiful disasters is part of my charm, just wait a while and learn me when it gets dark.

I guess you couldn’t read the stars or be moved by that kiss by Klimt, but I should have known you’re no Steve McQueen.

Mint, ice and rum on my lips, tender was the night, lustful fingertips and summer wine, dancing to Blondie in my ripped jeans glittery sheen.

Glad you had your cake too, you Marie Antoinette puck.

So it seems the ghosts of Christmas past threw you some fairy dust and now you’re just shit out of luck.

Your childish ego and wannabe 90s grunge excuses resemble a piano with no notes and one day your Markle wave won’t exist and your text book heart will be forgotten and drift away in your self-made treacherous sea.

Rolling, flowing, singing to a song no one else can hear,

Looking like a harpy with my Jane Doe eyes, rock n roll made me insane,

I just wish you were just a fucking dealer so I can quietly hide my pain.

Dead of night temptations will never lead to altruistic explanations.

I’d rather get hit than feel like an airport postcard being pissed on in vain.

They say hidden places hold all the answers, the desires, the loss of troubles and getting rid of any Daddy issues,

But I found one in a hole in the wall where rotting men bet on horses and and count their change with glassy eyes.

I must have sat there for years or maybe minutes and for the life of my angel heart I don’t think I’ll ever have a clue except leaving a note on a wine stained napkin… simply one word…goodbye.

Sur L’auteure

Cheyenne Crowe est née en Tunisie et a grandi à Los Angeles, ce qui lui a permis de se forger un point de vue unique mêlant diverses influences culturelles. Depuis sept ans, elle vit en Bretagne, où elle continue à nourrir sa passion pour la littérature et la narration. Écrivaine et cinéphile convaincue, elle trouve un sens profond aux récits, qu’il s’agisse de livres, de cinéma ou de réflexions personnelles.

Vivant désormais à la campagne, elle relève le défi de l’isolement tout en recherchant des liens authentiques avec d’autres personnes qui partagent son amour de la créativité et des idées iconoclastes. Malgré ses déceptions passées avec les gens, elle reste attirée par la richesse de l’expression humaine et le pouvoir des mots pour franchir les distances. Par l’écriture, elle explore ses émotions, ses pensées et ses expériences, à la recherche d’une compréhension et d’un sentiment d’appartenance.