[from "Lana Del Rey Sells Me On Sadness"]
That’s what poetry is, isn’t it? The drunk girl who slips into the pool fully clothed while the party keeps on without her. Or the starlet with dozens of roses thrown at her feet and only dirty dishes to come home to. That’s what you like — poetry, right? Let me tell you about the music of a dial tone after he hung up a decade ago. The ballet of being left. About the subtle smack of a screen door. Let me tell you about the kaleidoscope of a bruise. Sadness never forgets my birthday. Sadness is my always Valentine. Sadness is there when I wake up in the morning — and it’s Sadness who says, Lie down darling, sleep, sleep, sleep.