Trapped

La vie en rose-gold
Not real carated gold, more like gold-glitter
Spray paint, over this average low life
Glamorizing the squalor in which I triumph
A brilliant diamond, choosing the rough
To reap instantaneous profit amongst
The scoundrels and mongrels, I reign queen
Perched on the other side of the glass ceiling
With a lock key safe I change money
From leafy crystalized trinkets to fabricated
Woven trust bills bound with tired rubber bands
Too aged to stretch
Not young taut legs of gymnasts or
The bounding muscled track runners
Round and round they go
Chasing the phantom adrenaline high
While I worry about cancer
And how I ended up in the passenger seat of my own car
Too drunk to drive, waiting for him to come back
The lights are still on, the engine chugs,
Jenny Lewis croons statically on the radio
But where oh where did he go?

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