A Year At the Chelsea

Edie cries for everyone, thrown into bins Dylan cried the blues Joni parted yellow curtains At The Chelsea this afternoon overpaid prophets, socialites and sattelites collide. Take me away bring me back to that Chelsea. Broken free will combusts, change your frame, carry a shudder but hold on so tight, grasp irrelevant notions. Keep everything at bay, when the facade crumbles you'll fall apart. Nothing keeps you up. When you were living in The Chelsea I would walk by everyday. When the glamour of it fades you are empty and gone, your blood wont flow and you'll break down. When you realize you aren't whole anymore. Twenty eight, seventy one. Faded. When you trust too much.