Life is a pair of black corsets, fishnet stockings and cheap lipstick,

suffering from the intoxicating riches of each breath.

and in the midst of it all is a shadowed wrong turn,

in which my legs keep gliding through air.

A woman in a black corset with latex gloves,

dances in the night, her body a thorn of movement.

Her red lips smash against a dark stranger's and I find myself,

trying to break through such a curse,

break through these fucking gloves that keep me in my place.

My nails scratch against these latex walls,

suffocating in the carbon dioxide that taunts me.

these mechanic joints keep moving forward,

grabbing his tie and pulling his lips close to my heart,

something that gave up a long time ago.

I'm following a brick road,

and maybe a long time ago it was golden,

but lately it's been losing it's shine.

The dim light shining through transparent black,

is the only thing that keeps these dancing legs going.

Maybe, the next one will be you.



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