reeking luxury like rotten fruit
it chokes you in a toxic fog
cadaverous men smile through smoked rooms and look like reapers
jewels jangle like the chains of prisoners and i'm frigid with fear. frigid that i might be stuck in the jaws of a radical system. i'm this class of people and you're alone out in the cold clawing at yellow windows spilled with candle light. she twirls the dance floor with a bored face. the tilt of the vastness of her wealth.
trust fund baby went on a tryst with destiny
and got promptly lost in an art gallery
they looked at her respectfully and handed her armfuls of flattery. it's just hierarchy. you work for me permanently.
sodden eyed young men smirk as they lean on cars that are low and big and long. engines tick like clocks. lights glow like the daytime and compete with shiny frocks that have owners who flounce and smile while handcrafted words tumble from soft soft lips. find me in this crowd. i'm choking with insincerity. it's sickening.
the posturing. the furious smoking. the belgravia slurs. the monogrammed words that chaps and girls throw about. save me.
goodwood house is looming. come in. you're all welcome providing you can grow fake silver tongues.
