another day wasted
fat and dumb
with a half bottle of rum
this is the life
that we’ve lead
and lived up to
scenes filled with
heroes and villains
it’s a culmination of
base urges with
nothing profound and
getting rougher around the edges

intrepid birds still sing
and at times
still objects
appeared to stir

i’m just the guy that
you see on the street
average in an unusual way
always waiting for intrigue
occasionally met and
spewing
informal communication
with no action
and less motivation

pause
incomplete terror
images easily confused
it’s not as easy to write these days

i’m just the guy that
checkmated and hated
with catastrophe
under a fall moon
looks to a sunny morning
for reprise
passive and misunderstood
fucked by some
and loved by others

please god
just grant me
one moment of style