I woke to a croissant and a craving,

Salt air seducing, but my veins misbehaving.

Palm trees swayed like they knew what I’d done,

Another ghost sunburnt beneath the Côte d’Azur sun.

My mirror still lies with a face I half-know,

Mascara constellations where the tear-stars go.

This city sells dreams like Dior sells despair —

Even sobriety sparkles with decadent flair.

⸻

They said “fifteen, you’ll feel like yourself again,”

But what if myself is a stranger in pain?

I trace old temptations in sidewalk mosaics,

Where glass once kissed blood in champagne-drenched basements.

⸻

✨ On the 15th, I breathe like I’ve never before,

No white lies in lines on a marble floor.

The glitter is gone, but my eyes are wide —

I’m not high, but I’m somehow alive.

🎭 On the 15th, the silence sings sweet,

And my heart finds a hesitant, human beat.

I don’t need the rush, just the real, just the rain —

Let the craving come, it won’t carve me again.

⸻

The cafés whisper in cruel past tense,

I sip bitter thoughts with a side of pretense.

My shadow once wore Louboutin pride,

Now I lace up resolve just to walk outside.

Cocaine was a lover with lips full of lies,

A sleek little snake in a glassy disguise.

She called me divine, then she clawed out my sleep —

I buried her name in the waves, six feet deep.

⸻

Oh, withdrawal’s a ballet with barbed-wire grace,

Dancing on razors in satin and lace.

My brain is a riot, my bones still shake,

But Cannes doesn’t judge — she just lets me break.

I see ghosts in the fountains, gods in the trash,

Chanel-covered wounds and a need for the flash.

But pain in the spotlight still flickers and dies —

And healing, my dear, wears no clever disguise.

⸻

🌅 On the 15th, I rise with the gulls and the tide,

No more nights where I vanish inside.

No powdered escape, no shimmering lie —

Just me and the sky, just me and the sky.

🎭 On the 15th, I’m bruised, but I’m back,

With no need to vanish in chemical black.

I’m not healed, but I’m here, and I’m holding my pen —

Fifteen days clean. I won’t go back again.

⸻

I walk past the parties, the velvet and wine,

The scent of temptation still dances like thyme.

But I’ve tasted that kingdom, it crumbled like chalk,

So I’m learning to crave the sound of my walk.

No needles, no nosebleeds, no bargain with sleep —

Just silence and sandals and secrets I keep.

Not quite a saint, but no longer a slave —

Fifteen days clean, and I dug my own grave—

Then crawled out.

⸻

🌤 On the 15th, I bloom like a weed through the stone,

Breaking in beauty, forgotten, alone.

No borrowed euphoria, no stage, no disguise —

Just breath in my lungs and gold in the skies.

🎭 On the 15th, no diamonds, no deals —

Just the quietest proof that recovery heals.

Not perfect, not pure, but I stand with my hands —

Empty and open.

Free in Cannes.

In Cannes, the city I‘ve chosen.