Another late-nighter. |
voices ring like gunshots through an empty apartment stutter-stepping while they echo: ricocheting shrapnel that imbeds within the soul. grimy months of unclean chastity broken feebly under days of heavy strain and nights laced with sin and cocaine white and black, then red as day breaks. shriveled and worthless under back-breaking pain of defeat, acrid and bitter like bile that never recedes, never surrenders. feet hit the floor with some verbose, mournful pang and the wheels of time and fate run simultaneously, yet refuse to coincide. blame the world for indications of indifference penned furiously on derelict scraps of notebooks that fill too easily and pages that don't listen and don't care. rapid transformations for the sake of maintaining something constant and human. moonlight and streetlamps reflect dolefully in shimmering bottles that mean nothing but a night forgotten and a morning headache. stop questioning reasons for stupidity, stop balancing truths and white lies. stop retching over dingy tile, watching the ceiling spin in quiet repose. fill the flanks of destiny with your heartache and remind mankind that pain is unquenchable and that it takes little to tempt a desperate man. encapsulated reckonings that flutter aimlessly as autumn wanes and the summer light has been long lost, trees and knuckles bare and white and waiting. |