tribal71

geriatric man stares at the computer..
he doesnt get up..his body is but a vessel
to an instrument that bleeds him dry..
his careless uncertainty is frailty upon the wings of destruction..a strain of gin
and an empty bottle of pills..stale cigars,cheap cologne,the destitute carry a burden of immorality around there soul..sitting on the couch of life
the redundant commercials want and
want but have nothing to give accept
a loss of dying culture..going back to the
age of man..a tear lingers down his cheek at the thought of things tomorrow.