waiting for fate (i got a real great attitude) aka playing myself in an imaginary game of cards and losing
im waiting for the
man
three dollar and fifty cent coffee in my
hand
somethings gonna happen
inspiration before perspiration
underarms laced with thick coats of Right Guard gel deodorant
sitting on this metal bar chair outside on a sidewalk
waiting for the sun to drop
waiting for the numb to stop
waiting for the hand to move the pen that i stole from work
ive got a whole collection of them
the smooth felt tip ones sit a top the pile as prizes
amongst the smearing capless ball point Bics
the grass on this street is filled with shit
the cement stained with old pieces of gum
permanent flat dull grey disks
im looking, im seeing, im breathing it all in
this is all i can grasp
this is all i can come up with
im not really waiting for the man tonight
im not even waiting for my hand to write
im just making bubbling sounds out of the last remains of my iced latte
liquid, air, and ice in a duel to the death
and im a fool to the last breath
because i believe in fate as much as i believe
that the car on the street that just parked under both a tree and a telephone pole
has a good chance of leaving with white bird droppings on top of it
as much as i believe that the person next to me
who has accepted three calls on their cell phone since i have been sitting here
is somehow more important than me
it all goes round
and as the sun goes down
im just waiting for the groove
for the song of the moon to call me out of this chair
(because without it i dont dare)
sucker for fate, waiting for something to happen
i take one step forward
and save the rest for the wind that blows this discarded napkin
tapping the last of a cigarette into a back, plastic ashtray
the moon is silent and my writing hand is still
and i dont care
blind faith in nothing has a plate at my table
i might have aces and i might be bluffing
do with me what you will
im waiting for the
man
three dollar and fifty cent coffee in my
hand
somethings gonna happen
inspiration before perspiration
underarms laced with thick coats of Right Guard gel deodorant
sitting on this metal bar chair outside on a sidewalk
waiting for the sun to drop
waiting for the numb to stop
waiting for the hand to move the pen that i stole from work
ive got a whole collection of them
the smooth felt tip ones sit a top the pile as prizes
amongst the smearing capless ball point Bics
the grass on this street is filled with shit
the cement stained with old pieces of gum
permanent flat dull grey disks
im looking, im seeing, im breathing it all in
this is all i can grasp
this is all i can come up with
im not really waiting for the man tonight
im not even waiting for my hand to write
im just making bubbling sounds out of the last remains of my iced latte
liquid, air, and ice in a duel to the death
and im a fool to the last breath
because i believe in fate as much as i believe
that the car on the street that just parked under both a tree and a telephone pole
has a good chance of leaving with white bird droppings on top of it
as much as i believe that the person next to me
who has accepted three calls on their cell phone since i have been sitting here
is somehow more important than me
it all goes round
and as the sun goes down
im just waiting for the groove
for the song of the moon to call me out of this chair
(because without it i dont dare)
sucker for fate, waiting for something to happen
i take one step forward
and save the rest for the wind that blows this discarded napkin
tapping the last of a cigarette into a back, plastic ashtray
the moon is silent and my writing hand is still
and i dont care
blind faith in nothing has a plate at my table
i might have aces and i might be bluffing
do with me what you will
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
I've been feeling shitty lately because I've sunk to a new low: I've become an escort. To be perfectly blunt, I suck dick for $$.
I had a $10/hr job at Rite Aid that just wasn't cutting it... my rent is too damn expensive and I'm knee-deep in debt. I've gotten desperate basically.
I love the $$ I've made (I've made $2000 in 3 days), but I hate myself for doing this. It's sickening. I hate strange men touching me. I cry afterwards. It really really sucks. No pun intended, hah.
My self-esteem has gone down the drain. My life is hell right now. I feel so dirty and gross and I hate myself.
So yeah, that's basically what's been going on with me.
i don't like page long poetry in general. but your stuff is unusually captivating. as i've said before.. the honesty is there.