For the Day in the Life

You
Came to my life.
You
Think that it's mine.

I breathe someone else's air
Sleep someone else's dream
Ignore the disdain.

Go on, keep walking
Like my heels aren't strapped
To the ankles of a Saint.

I smile the same smile
As the devil.
I laugh the same, all consuming laugh
As the sinner himself.

Drive that road
Kick that walk
Eat that plate
Like it's the last meal.

Hell is made of Harpsichords

Any other hell
Is icecold
But mine is made of
Harpsichord.

Any other hell
Is delicious
But mine sounds like
Harps in hell.

myspace.com/leilarousseau

Jump to the Conclusions

A woman isn't herself without liberty, and she is no one without love.

To love a woman in her freedom is to love her from a distance.

A woman in pursuit is not pretty to watch.

A woman in a jumpsuit by a great designer is gorgeous to notice.
So ethereal is the vision of her, that you may not realise she is in quite a fix.

Lost the Fines

How did I create my own past
By looking back so far
Past the first time I went
And at last the first time I recall.

How did you see your own will
By holding strong to all your weakness
Will it to be the end
And still the end is what I remembered.

Keep my memories in this box
For trinkets.
Hold it shut, if one is to open.
Shut it away, if one is to pry.

Autumn in Paris

(c) Leila Rousseau 2010