30 October 2012
"For years, I have surrounded myself With the most fucked up people. The richest, the elite, the modern Romantics, The most beautiful people, With money to screw, And a heart, pumping whiskey In shadowed corners of London. In shady basement clubs, We'd lean; spidery-thin limbs tangled and Draped across each other. Collarbones, jutting 'Who needs food? Haven't eaten in weeks'. Faces tilted down, looking up through thick lashes And peroxide waves of silken hair. Glitter smeared down our pearly faces, Refracting light upon velvet and leather, Buckles and chains, zips and tassels, luxury pain. We'd pout with scarlet rebellion, Screw you, what do you know, Go and pour out your soul to a therapist, I'll dance in the night with a man I don't know. 'Tortured soul', tattooed and bitter, Late night limos, drinking champagne, Blurred photographs expelling a lie, Garish white, sultry black, Gaudy and monochrome melted on the fire And gave birth to me, Gave birth to us, mother colour. Men with rough skin, black eyes, cigarette breath, All ours, following suit, in black suits, dripping with wine. We group of elites are all you want to be. Where we go, people follow, Gods of the night, children of controversy. Bite marks, scars, bruises and bones, We are fragile statues who make this place shine. I'm insular, I'm introvert, But I want you to know who I am. I want you to want to be me. I want you to look at yourself and feel shit, Because you aren't here, With your head tilted, And your cheekbones high, Skinny-perfect, rich as shit, And melting into a velvet underground, Feathered and photographed, Draped in diamonds of admiration."
The nurse, eyes so kind, Pulled the hospital gown back up over my shoulder, And tucked my dirty brown hair behind my ear. She sighs, adjusts my drip, and stands. With a hush and a smile, She turns out the light.
Explicit Elite • Opuss № I