A little whisky can go a long way
By yourself on a lonely sunday
While all your friends are seeing one another
Doing the same thing that i'm doing, but together

A little whiskey can go the wrong way
When you've had too much
Your mouth begins to burn
Then nothing, it's numb

Along with the rest of your body
Your minds at work,
But it's ready to resign
Is this by coincidence or by design?

It's going to be a long night
If I can't refrain
From fighting with myself
But what does it matter?
I have nothing to lose, nothing to gain

I'm trapped in my mind
With a bottle jammed down my throat
Finding it hard to breath
And wondering why?

YOU LOVE HER AND YOU FORGOT ABOUT ME.
HOW COULD YOU?
HOW THE HELL COULD YOU RUN TO THE GIRL WHO EVERYBODY LOVES
AND LEAVE BEHIND, SO CRUELLY,
THE ONE THAT NO ONE WILL GET TO KNOW?

I was an idiot to not have seen this coming.
Honestly, what the **** did I think I was;
Desirable? - ha.
And how naïve of me to think
that a child like you would have the decency to
look past my scars and ask me if I was okay.

You’re a pain
and an ***
and nowhere near deserving of my affection.

...so why do I still feel this way about you?
How could I still let myself hope like hell that maybe,
just maybe,
*you’d want me.

Skyscrapers jut towards the heavens
middle fingers to Mother Nature
or sun-bleached white ribs of some poor beast
who tangoed with a toyota
and lost.

The stench that wafts through the streets could easily strip paint
but the locals don't seem to mind.
They march through their mundane Mondays
like maggots in goose-step.
The cacophony of their carrion communion is grisly and deafening.

Garish billboards burn
obscene advertisements onto assaulted retinas.
Street salesmen descend upon naive tourists
like vultures after fresh meat.

Policemen **** and pillage
what they were sworn to protect and serve,
and the Mayor's fungal tendrils
reach deep into the criminal underbelly of his city.

The voracious human hunger for wealth
knows no boundaries.
The grey-on-grey urban tragedy that is this concrete corpse
is always changing. Growing. Advancing.
however, it is not without waste.

Abandoned asphalt arteries stretch as far as the eye can see.
Somewhere, in a derelict parking lot, a flower is blooming.

We may spit in the face of Mother Nature
with every tree we cut and river we dam,
but soon she will be the one laughing
over our shattered
concrete
corpses.