fashionista (the lyric)

ocean’s in at Eleven, Sunday,

it’s wild tonight

when watching the fading rain;

there’s never a name

of all the likes of a fashion statement,

ritual dances for the sake of the game,

and woebegone

is the word I was looking for

bleak in her gown

here for the show when they’ve all gone,

the bones behind are all she’d count;

but she can count

the worlds that’ve barely missed her;

yeah, she can count,

miss underdone fashionista…

boredom splits and Velcro tears,

adulthood blimps,

yet she’s never there on your line

of “oh darling you’re all mine…”

but look at her go

just a stone on the floor,

watching in from outside your door;

in the crookedness

where she stands her day,

masochism as a state of play

she’s all around

in this world that won’t lift her,

she’s all around,

little miss underdone Fashionista

half a life in chaos dreamt,

dressed down citing innocence,

how bad can it be…?

and the rest of it, a bargain earned

of petrol drops that refused to burn,

and a heart that still believes…

it’s just the heart that still believes.

ten-second thought between skirts that get chased, and I'm not putting this in any way I'm not supposed to be putting this in. I don't want her to build my house: She's better than brick or cement.

I only wrote this to feel better. Nice reminder, though - a tilt-back of head and a whirl of thought and I'd be glad I have my feet on the ground. Wish my dad would read this.