The broken heart in Mexico

 Woke up on a rusted frame of burned out old Deville.
Your legs are shot and flushed with pain, but you can't keep them still. The sun sets and you're afraid, of the itching in your skin. You stumble down the Boulevard, of neon encrusted temples, you're looking for the Grace of God in the arms, of a fellow, stranger. Disciples hand you catalogues of concubines as you stumble down the Boulevard, crying "Hossanna."

Welcome to Fabulous, welcome to Fabulous, Las Vegas. Give us your dreamers, your harlots and your sin, Las Vegas. Didn't nobody tell you, the House will always win?
Cameras on the ceiling tide, no place for you to hide. It's a hundred and seven and you're looking for shade that no palm tree can provide.
Why don't you find out for yourself?  
For Tumblr
By Peter Vidani
Theme: Papercut