Seven N Seven with a pool cue, 6 games alone in a backwoods dive. Crazy how unsocial a social scene can be. The bartender is a gem and a tall glass of water to this dry old fuck. With any luck some conversation would likely be the pinnacle of what she offers me. Lets watch people, and see what ensues after a little poison. Creepy, maybe, but from the corner, in the shadows, the most amazing catalysts are captured. The bumbling arrogance met with intoxicated rage, doing a dance, taken outside. Lonely and insecure seeking the best of the flattery to feel needed for a night. Outdated preys on youthful vibes feeling lively and nubile again. Fossil vultures watch the short skirts, retiring to the bottle. Mr regular stares down the condensation aptly fueling apathy and solitude.
Lust for a bust of smoky sweat and a clumsy tongue draws smiles for whatever can be found for the night. No age, no type, no color, these matter nil when firm for flesh. Smell sweetness in her bosom with a dance then a pace to her place and full disclosure of her pastels. Morning sheds light on sins, scrambles, and severed emotions, super-glued to her taste in my mouth. Drive of shame, shower of same, sordid blame and noctule fame give way loneliness creeping in again.
I may have loved her, she will never know, I may never show, and the night tainted by the fleeted morning glow, will harden her to the next of a demon at the end of the bar.
Lust for a bust of smoky sweat and a clumsy tongue draws smiles for whatever can be found for the night. No age, no type, no color, these matter nil when firm for flesh. Smell sweetness in her bosom with a dance then a pace to her place and full disclosure of her pastels. Morning sheds light on sins, scrambles, and severed emotions, super-glued to her taste in my mouth. Drive of shame, shower of same, sordid blame and noctule fame give way loneliness creeping in again.
I may have loved her, she will never know, I may never show, and the night tainted by the fleeted morning glow, will harden her to the next of a demon at the end of the bar.
Some nights its amazing how a dark corner of your mind can be the blade that severs the world from you. Long grainy drags on a fleshy image of LIFE, . . . . "as it should be".
Welcomed would be the serene dream, or nightmare, that visits your final slumber, if "perfect" eyes could actually see. You drag on a death-stick sprawled on the curb waiting for something. 25 years and tonight is when life starts? Shitty movie, in a bad part of town, full of root beer and jack, getting kicked out of every establishment nearby, just asking for taxes to roll up and cite you for "drunk in public". Fuck it. You could take em. What a nice dress, arm in arm with a very elegant suit. It would seem they are reveling in romance post credits crossing the lot. Good for them, living happy, enjoy life. Reaction. Now they can bleed rivers on their mercedes, daft cunt, rotten skunk. In the daytime, the bats black out the sun, with a snide mark, and snorted look. No less of a man than them, no more of a bum than you, this common uncommon ground is a pit of putrid hatred, nobody wins here. Slit a thousand throats, and still a voice would bellow its higher peck, and look down on you for second hand shoes. You could fuck a model to spread your demon seed, and wreck the temple of visual stimuli, only to make it more beautiful, and have replacements fall in where the manic media desires the empty soul of Norma Jean. There is no winning, but in your world, by your hands, from your voice, with your mind, slumming on your curb, grabbing YOUR piece of life.
Darkness reminds me that nightlife is still life, and fuck the world that says that we're not good enough.
Surgically separated from this world, and you, and all the bullshit.
Welcomed would be the serene dream, or nightmare, that visits your final slumber, if "perfect" eyes could actually see. You drag on a death-stick sprawled on the curb waiting for something. 25 years and tonight is when life starts? Shitty movie, in a bad part of town, full of root beer and jack, getting kicked out of every establishment nearby, just asking for taxes to roll up and cite you for "drunk in public". Fuck it. You could take em. What a nice dress, arm in arm with a very elegant suit. It would seem they are reveling in romance post credits crossing the lot. Good for them, living happy, enjoy life. Reaction. Now they can bleed rivers on their mercedes, daft cunt, rotten skunk. In the daytime, the bats black out the sun, with a snide mark, and snorted look. No less of a man than them, no more of a bum than you, this common uncommon ground is a pit of putrid hatred, nobody wins here. Slit a thousand throats, and still a voice would bellow its higher peck, and look down on you for second hand shoes. You could fuck a model to spread your demon seed, and wreck the temple of visual stimuli, only to make it more beautiful, and have replacements fall in where the manic media desires the empty soul of Norma Jean. There is no winning, but in your world, by your hands, from your voice, with your mind, slumming on your curb, grabbing YOUR piece of life.
Darkness reminds me that nightlife is still life, and fuck the world that says that we're not good enough.
Surgically separated from this world, and you, and all the bullshit.
