no promises here

fabricated shadows,
comfort in
old and familiar addictions
i pencil secrets across a reclusive mind
as throats are sharpened
and nooses loosened

the sky is lit
with a half-hearted glow
and i’m waiting
for the best moment of nothing

with chilled teeth
and discomfort
we are tied
upon the end
of another
quiet and blurry night

i accept these transitions
from mornings of blue cut moons
to evenings of light
filtered in an anti-hero twilight
as i write corrupted lines
to smite
this self imposed
lonely blight

holding a half empty beer
and pissing sideways
into an infinite
and dirty toilet bowl
i relieve this dubious signal
of empty time

sitting cross legged,
bursting with
lazy creativity
and heartburn
i close my eyes and negate
this passive stimulation

i like those those sad songs
they remind me of
switchblade nights
walking down dirty paths
toward middle aged adventure
and white mornings
when i quietly drove away

i wonder how long this fire will burn
i wonder how long the horizon
will promise something new
because from where i’m sitting now
there are no promises here



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