new york is an abusive girlfriend.
she is the dream in which you can never fully wake- the initial annoying rise to consciousness. new york is a constant battle, she is a wonderful illusion, shaking you from her fur like the fleas i [sometimes] have in my apartment. her hand strokes your jawline and steals your wallet-
gently wakes you in bed with the slight dip of her body only to find her drunk and needy. new york city kicks you in her sleep, she keeps you perpetually dirty. you convince yourself it's the history that turns black under your fingernails, the souls she's claimed that cling to the first life-being they see. it's in the air when you first step from the shower and it's as if you can never escape the filthiness. soap suds turn gray every wash of your hands and you try to convince yourself that it's a beautiful shade that no one has ever seen before but
new york is an adulterous lover leaving you fucked and vulnerable in your apartment at 3 a.m. i can't leave her, i can't leave her, she hits me and kisses the bruises. i have learned to love the pain and beg her to stay; a childish, masochistic longing to be thrown around a little. new york crawls up your body and brings her hand to your throat and before long, you begin to love it. new york convinces you that the bright lights before fainting are
she belongs to no one.
there are two types of people in the world, those who paint their finger nails and those who stay