Its more than a feeling when its come down to the finish and even a worse one when you realize its time to start yet again. Like some sick version of twisted game show your always in reach and anytime your desperate the **** will gather to praise your failure. The bottle filled glory days a dinosaur who's back id long fell of of trying to stay in the groove simply has left me with more scratches than I care to speak of so **** the logic in this I preffer a good ******* covred lie instead.
Hell wasnt a fire laced horror theme it was a emptyness beyond anything a normal man could ever imagine. Good thing I would never fall under that title.
We were somewhere in Maryland the bar a afterthought now and are drunken thoughts had left us silent to ramble in are own personal hells we tried to convince others didnt exist. As for the big payoff well . If half empty shows and being more broke than when you left was a sucess then we were true diamonds at this point. You give it all out there only to question do you have a home to return to. And Martin was a wounded solider broken from a quick text once read. Ive had enough I wont be here when you return.
And as he was broken we did what any self absorbed ******* who couldnt face what could be us would do. Drown in vices and cracked jokes over are friends misfortune and tried to make sure we didnt get to much of his misery to **** are buzz.
For me it was the usal some quick drinks some soon to be forgotten conversations with women I'd seldom recall gotta keep chasing that good time cant let the boys see your reallity or you'd fall and never do you wanna show weakness in a pack of wolves .
Robert was always the same a crash and burn ****** who started fights and had to be half loaded to even greet the day. Once I saw the geinus behind what had now became the running joke of the group. The tide had long since returned to the ocean and left him trapped apon the shore.
We all knew he was a dead end street but he paid his way and as long as we could scam a few bills from him we used him without regard it was the worst kind of cutthroat you could imagine. All in the name of a good laugh.
Being said that only left me and Tony to keep this **** togather we rode long hours and made little money but just like sharks if were still moving with some drugs in are system were still doing good.
My head against the window rains steady rythm kept me company in this silence I could allow the ******* guard down. Count the laughs and ignore the bombs **** it was a bloodthirsty scene in south Boston lastnight. The crowd intent on breaking you and getting down watred down drinks overprized and as shallow as there owners for the moment.
Why the **** was I here stuck in a prison with four wheels rolling steady and praying not to get pulled by the cops and wondering if anyone of us could lie well enough to be trusted to drive **** knows the best driver had just been hitting the pipe a hour ago. And I really didnt think my flask in side pocket would be a charming insentive to some officer who hated dealing with a car filled with drunks and junkies.
So what you boys do? I could hear this converstaion playing out. Were comedians just heading home officer been on the road awhile. Oh yeah you boys any good? Well as you can tell from this fantastic 1999 minvan crap mobile were driving were a great sucess. You being a ******* boy?
Some people never get the joke.
The miles passed and soon were bound for are corners. Off from the battle left only to crawl in broken down hovels and lick are wounds with whatever drugs we may have left laying around. And as for me I'd just turn off the lights and sleep.
In the dark nobody touches my often semi burnt out thoughts.
And as the days bled one into the next I'd tell myself ***** it Im done!. But bad habbits and that insane thought of what if is a real ******* at times. And really what else besides the page could ever bring me the misery and false happiness I so desired.
Soon like some worn out race horse id be at the starting gate again I could only run till I drop. Why do it you may ask? Cause its just who I am the crowds a drug like any other and that one night of connection is more of a rush than any needle to arm has ever been.
The finish line never means **** when you know inside. All that leaves you with is another time to begin.
Far from a poem i know but often Ive always considred myself a writer and a writer at least in my scrwed up thoats can write anything.
Sometimes when coming off the road I have these moments when I think . **** all thats left is to just be out there like some hampster i a wheel it just goes nowhere. But other than its a real pain in the ****.