The French Riviera is magnificent in May she said from behind her outsized Gucci eyewear as the Lamborghinis passed outside the restaurant where a bottle of wine costs more than all the clothes on my body, but sometimes it’s not about the money. Reflections in tinted Bentley windows portraying palm tree parades leading up to The Carlton Hotel, the sun sets leisurely over the jewelry drenched haciendas as the murderer met her at the Viper Room, 5 hours left until she met her doom, blood tastes better if you had a pulse he mumbled, the ghost of River Phoenix and a bag of blow can’t save you now. The bottles piled up between my feet as my spirit fell from grace.
Rewind my soul right here on the beach, through moonlit skies, foliage symphonies and breaking waves, the bloody red shorelines are whispering my name. The night of the moth raises the divine wings of dawn or was it the other way around?