full fucking heartbreak.
Steam snakes around my boots,
streetlight dripping gold down my skin.
My voice climbs, and it’s feral now.
Raised in thehush hush,
caged behind NDAs,
buried under lies.
It hits the air as if it doesn’t belong there.
A trespasser.
A voice leaving a vessel and not a girl.
Because Raymond owns it all:
my voice, my songs, my name.
He wipedAllison Tayloroff every chorus,
every bridge.
Sold the songs. Stole the rights.
Called it business.
He turned me into nothing but a pen—a ghost.
But when I sing out here,
in the middle of traffic and trash and taxis,
I remember who I am.
In the middle of the city,
I exist because someone hears me.
So I sing louder while I have the chance,
as if I’ve got a knife to my throat.
The guy on his knees stops.
His arm drops to his knee,
his whole dumb head lifts, spell broken.
Like a vampire caught mid-feed.
I can’t see him, he’s all silhouette and shadow,
but I can see the cut-out of him gripping the back of her knee.
