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letra de july (part 1) - hotel books

i sat down with her and she told me her story
and i told her i loved her
and i just wanted to support her through her recovery
and through conversations, i listened
and i feel like this is the best way to interpret what she told me

the devil found a clever way to infiltrate
and bring his manipulation;
a slender blonde in a c-cktail dress
struggling through the intoxication
brought on by the gifting of drinks
until she was ready to pay back in the bedroom
in search to appease the demons in her head
on a sterile surface in the bathroom

looking into a half-cracked, half-filthy mirror
hoping she doesn’t reflect
that half-cracked, half-filthy receding stain of a smile
her mother made when she left
because the promises she made to herself
seem to be the hardest ones to keep
and knowing she survived the last storm
was no longer all she needed to be able to fall asleep

vacant wine gl-sses and late night crashes
symbolic of her vessel with no presentation at the pallet
but a spirit starving for remembrance
some sort of legacy other than her occupation
because her normal skin looked like silk
but had been masked by vengeance
baggage under her eyes, deep within her overcompensating lies
and all she saw when she gazed into the endless skies
was regret from that manipulation

this life of sleeping through the static of practice
for the everlasting rush she hoped for
she was somewhat ecstatic, but not for the first time
because she was reminiscent of those times
that she would have those late night drives;
those moments when she would look back and say
“how did i get here?”, those moments when
she would look at old childhood photos and say
“how did that child grow up to be like this?
when did i dismiss the morals that i subscribed to?
i don’t know what to do.”
and she looks at photos of her beautiful mother in her youth
and is envious of that smile she had when she was twenty-two

and she wishes she could say the same for herself
but she’s lived in a self-perpetuated h-ll
because she took the literal stains and the literal scars
and turned them into the emotional drain and then she fell apart

and i’ve never really been one for taking second chances
on times that i’ve been broken
but sometimes forgiveness needs to be put in place
for someone to actually grow from these negative emotions
and all that constructive use of the pain that’s thrown at you
is the only way to find refuge
so i’m gonna tell you this, darling:

every time you tell yourself that you’re not worth it
every time you tell yourself you’re worthless
you’re being lied to
and in that case, the liar is you

- hotel books

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