the drunk

we want
but so often
we receive
wandering this nervous breeding ground
of perpetual disappointment
fantasies seem
impossible to fulfill
yet still we try
through sex and television
through drugs and alcohol
through willful ignorance
and self imposed isolation

damn this distortion
love with no definition
it’s a slow decline
easy living with rough results
it’s all such a superstitious game
as tired screens and tired eyes
seek complacent connection
with words that mean so little
and curled hands
that stretch
like lazy cats’ paws
towards the sun

each night
i think it’ll be
and each night i
this rusty routine
waiting for inspiration
eventually surrendering
to a quiet obscurity



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