a poetic exorcism

tired from too much sleep
morning is the only savior
but there’s no attention to love
only the smell of piss in the morning
how to tell which way is up
with time constantly pushing
backwards and forwards
wifi and no signal there are
vibrations exclamations but
sunrise just isn’t the same in the city
hard back and traffic
no sign of remorse
new life on broken streets
writing cause there’s nothing else to do
this is the only place that’s honest
the place where exorcisms occur
right here on virtual paper with virtual print
i write bad sad poetry
too much goth and not enough metal
mutely aware that
to be dull in this life
is the greatest sin
nights flights absurd heights
fucked once and again
all this chaos is boring
spare time down time no time only lifetime
damn these subtle shadows
and short attention spans
at night we dance with the warrior
and in the morning we sleep with the coward
it’s the same short story
somewhat drab and set to repeat
with only the smallest chance
of heroes and villains
meanwhile men with bad teeth
bent and mounted
by the consequences of poor choices
shuffle along impatiently
waiting for the next big score
it seems they’ve almost stopped caring
what other eyes see
driving along damp roads disguised as experts
I think we could start a revolution
or make a video just the two of us
laughing till the world ends

 

 

 

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