Post - it

Naive Soul in the City of Angels

My world is sepia tinted.

In the air is pixie dust;

Angel dusted noses

And plastic dolls of the breathing kind

Are my moonlit companions of comfort.

In my head are sweet ephemeral vapours

Of validation from the masses.

In my lungs I take in

Tarred fumes that kill to soothe,

(Absolutely to die for!)

And roses grow in my windpipe

Beautiful but killing me with thorns.

I used to know nothing,

So simple plain.

But now in this Angel City

I am shaded sounds and cacophonous colours;

I have cut my hair and changed my name

And the dollarblood will look after my soul.

Everything will be rosy,

Just like on the silver screen,

This I believe with my innocent human heart.