Dim lit walls that used to feel like a hug are closing in like a chokehold
Pealed Tiffany's skeleton suit off my body, these bones need to breathe
I told myself I would walk until I found a revelation
I will walk this earth until I have answers
If I don't find anything I will keep walking
Jules is sitting in a California diner
I lit my last cigarette on Broome and Mercer
Where Chinatown becomes SoHo
Littered with designer houses and riddled with graffiti
Next to a tattooed light fixture
There are pieces of me all over this city
My bedroom wall is on the sidewalk, scraps of thought and conversations in store windows, for sale and discarded
I shared my last cigarette with Chanel, she's been on my brain
I took my last drag on the corner of West Houston, facing the Angelika
New York City is funny because all of the glamour coexists with the grime
There is cardboard beside a stoop where someone is growing cabbage
Someone lives here, on the outside floor and up the stoop
I really am so lucky, with a roof, with a family
Only afflicted with an oral fixation and repressed depressive tendencies
Maybe there is another cigarette in my pocket
I'm thinking about throwing it in the trash in front of me
Growing out of this skin and into my trench coat
And getting too old to go out into the world for a smoke break
Let's call it what it is
A break
I turn around and head home, nicotine stink in my mouth
It lingers and dies in my lungs before I go for another piece of extra spearmint gum
I turn around and go home
Everything is different the second time around.
Photo taken by Maddy Sun
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