My soul is asleep, so why do you expect me to be singing the blues tonight? Five years clean and I still manage to feel dirty. I vow to no longer go on the fast rides like I used to. I now focus on the streetlights and neon signs to stay calm somehow. I realize I only hide my turmoil in my shoes in fear that the people around me would write their own version on the walls. It's just as well.
Two lovers become three and heartbreak crashes the scene.
We stay in our shelter; together we fall apart.
I still wear my flower dresses on the weekends
and even though the spotlight is fake ---
I feel alive. I still believe.
My childhood friends say I'm making the biggest mistake. There is a world for the drug users and there is one I've crossed to. I can no longer see heroin as cotton candy. My hands behind my back and I've been shaking; shaking hands far too long than I should have. I may have weak palms but it doesn't mean I'm a nonbeliever. I even asked the Grim Reaper if I could stay in the sidelines with her and hopefully some kind of miracle would soon follow. The Grim Reaper refused but I can't say I blame her, especially when you see demons with wings and angels with horns.
I still think about the boy who used to live next door to me. The boy once told me that the magicians and the udertakers are basically the same. I asked what he meant by that and he simply replied, "They both can make the body disappear."
I was the naive one, after all. I'm hitting (a number I refuse to announce) and I'm still reading fairytales. The boy knew I will only continue to make flower dresses for the rest of my days. I assured him that we can still pretend the spotlight is still shinning on us; he loved the idea but he knew that's all it really was --- a great idea. I wish I knew what he knew when I was his age.
The boy whispered to my ear, "Just don't expect me to be singing the blues tonight."