Paris

Today, you are with the great romantics and the deadliest cynics
3482 miles from 9th street, our sweet deli on the corner
You tell me where you are, but I do not care
I have never cared, and I will be damned if I start now.
You have a purpose and you will find it amusing
You fool, you angel on the hill.
The rules of the game have not been decided
All I know is that I am the creator
and you will bend to my rules.
The bullet points are perfectly manicured and aimed to kill
Kill you, not me, of course
Because I, wonder if you know that this is a poker face game
I wonder if you know that there is no chance at victory
The clouds will turn green and crumble into bread before you win
Like sharks feeding on fake blood
You descend into the water, unwillingly but so perfectly
I've never seen someone so perfect
It’s a shame you are filled with beauty
But your insides, tied in knots, validate nothing
You are contaminated with age and no wisdom
This was always a game, and now I have won.