In The City That Never Sleeps, I Sleep Without You Poem by Lauren Becker

I took a street car
To the desert where I burried you
I sift threw scortching sand
I know I could have married you.
That day, I took a plane to Vegas
I filled my veins with cheap champagne
In the city that never sleeps, I sleep without you.

I see you
Through the night club smoke burning my eyes
I wear your skin;
A new trend fully publisized
Through the black light
And my distorted eye sight,
I see you take your first fall.

I met him
In the threshold that he carried you
On that hotel balcony,
He never should have married you
I had one too many sleeping pills
And ended up in your dreams

I walk through
The city that I burned for you
In the Nevada heat
I never should have yearned for you
The desert sand grows cold
Under the sky that I first murdered you.

I heard you
Whispering through the microphone
I gagged you
With the words you thought you never told
Through blood loss
Through plane costs
You fell to my feet.

I took a street car
To the desert where I burried you
I grab your lifeless hand
I know I would have married you
Today I took a train to Folsom
Deranged and lonesome
In the city that never sleeps, I sleep without you.