tired
friday night flights and
my attention span is down to
a few precious moments
there i sat, on top of the world
looking down
as a familiar tune hung loosely in the air
the sky had claw marks, shred
from which the sun shed
it’s final moments
begging and bleeding
to remain among the land of the living
with worn boots laced tight
and my jean jacket hanging in a
stylish and subdued fashion
I crept down 7th lane
half empty beer in hand
a calamitous machine gun man
i had cheated you see
alone with the dead and
one too many cigarettes
it was lust and adventure
that filled my head, then
a hint of desperation and
i couldn’t shake the feeling that
somehow i had been left behind
wanting and waiting
with a warrant of wasteful watchwords
held in reserve for the wrong time
there was something secret,
half spoken, elusive
and i knew that by tomorrow
it would be gone
erased, forgotten
or perhaps just white
because we are nothing but
raw hearts
too real to be committed
and too alone to be real
there’s always a boogey man
just around the corner
and lifes’ only worth living
in the early morning hours
when no one else is watching
everyone has a style
and my style is born of
inspiration and lack of talent
if it’s meant to be, it won’t be
unless you pursue it, entice it
surrender to the chaos of uncertainty
and shatter the illusion of satisfaction