Golden City (edit 2.)

[nozaki]

I. Cadenza
Tenderloin, where you come alive only for the stars
to stick you with sharp things... violence films
my lips as I search for words to rip 
the creativity out of you. You lie in repose 
when I return to our room, bruises opening 
like wine on your cheeks. It would be art, surely, 
if I stepped back, but for what, would you flourish? 

II. Uproar
The scalpel of this city could cut me open 
just to keep the streetlights burning. 
But survival is a cold thing; every breath 
is chilled by the need to take another one. 
And youth is a flexible thing. Lose it 
as it suits you
and gain it when you are looking 
for a reason to explain your unhappiness. 

III. Sunrise
Already angry that we've outgrown each other, 
I call only to hear you ask why. 
Loving you is so much harder than just knowing that I do. 

IV. Oceans 
This- 
this 
lack of sense- 
is what gambling does to you. 
It's a hazard, the hearts- 
the lives, the chips- 
when we lose, 
again
and again, 
all we will do is 
resign ourselves
to one more. 

I. Golden City
Tenderloin, where you come alive only for the stars
to stick you with sharp things, is not a place for words: 
the violence films my lips as I roam, searching
for words to rip the creativity out of you. You lie 
in repose when I return to our room, bruises opening
like wine on your cheeks. It would be art, surely, 
if I stepped back, but for what, would you flourish? 

II. Uproar
What my youth does to me, I know. 
My words break like fever, moving
through the city with an anger that
snaps. You cannot see me smiling, 
but you know the emotion. I feel like
I could kill. I do to my youth as 
it does to me: I light up. Tenderloin, 
where you are either bored or sober, 
either dying or dead, is not a place
for- infatuation? No, it is love. 

III. Tazza: The High Rollers
This
is what gambling does to you. 
This lack of sense, 
it's a hazard, the hearts-
the lives, the chips- 
when we lose
again 
and again (you shatter me, 
you 
child, you infidel), 
all we will do 
is bet on 
another. 

IV. Rise
Already angry that we've outgrown each other, I call only to hear you ask why. 

You haven't called. 
I was busy. 
You always are. 
I know. 
Are you in the city? 
I never am. 
Do you love me? 
Yes, I love you. 
Where are you? 
A party. 
Fucking on me? 
If I wasn't fucked up. 
I was worried. 
I was tired. 
You always are. 
Do you blame me? 
No, I love you, 
I love you, 
I love you, I 

cuts, scabbing into lines of poetry: the violence films
my lips as I search for the words to rip
the creativity out of you. it would be art only
if I stepped back, but for what would you flourish? 
bruises open like wine on your cheeks.
so loving you is so much harder than knowing 
that I just do. already angry that we've outgrown
each other, I call only to hear you care
enough to ask why. this, 

this 
lack of sense, 
is an example of gambling done wrong. 
it's a hazard, the hearts-
the lives, the chips- 
when we run out, 
all we can do
is bet on
more.