.
An empty corner bends
beneath street lights working overtime
and a bench, cold and lonely,
damp from previous storms
and those threatening,
closing dark curtains
on a weary skyline,
beckons, offering a seat,
hard horizontal slats
last occupied by another
with hopes and dreams
left to wander, wondering why
A black cat crosses my path
and I laugh at its expression
Knowing it believes bad luck
will come of this, little does it know,
I have no path for it to cross,
no destination, no planned outcome
or luck to speak of
Pushing the crosswalk button
again and again
and still it reads "don’t walk,"
I do as I am told
I shouldn't look, what's the use,
it always the same, you spill your soul
and it's washed away with the last phrase
He gets them, oh he gets them
on every one, no matter what it is
and **** if she doesn't get them too,
hell even crap gets them,
far too many times
But I shouldn't complain,
it's nice being liked,
you don't even have to hear the click
It's just hard sometimes when you realize,
you're just not as good as you thought
Feeling drowsy now I settle in
on softened splinters and peeling paint,
counting passing cars like sheep
in the soothing flicker of
a faulty flourescent sign
at the 24 hour tattoo parlor
Where needles aren’t the only thing
spurting ink, perforating skin,
creating lasting impressions
that even a beautiful sunrise
can’t erase as I fall off to a world
that doesn’t seem so bad,
at least for a few hours,
hoping that when I wake
it wakes with me
Aug 19, 2016
Aug 19, 2016 at 6:56 PM UTC
.
An empty corner bends
beneath street lights working overtime
and a bench, cold and lonely,
damp from previous storms
and those threatening,
closing dark curtains
on a weary skyline,
beckons, offering a seat,
hard horizontal slats
last occupied by another
with hopes and dreams
left to wander, wondering why
A black cat crosses my path
and I laugh at its expression
Knowing it believes bad luck
will come of this, little does it know,
I have no path for it to cross,
no destination, no planned outcome
or luck to speak of
Pushing the crosswalk button
again and again
and still it reads "don’t walk,"
I do as I am told
I shouldn't look, what's the use,
it always the same, you spill your soul
and it's washed away with the last phrase
He gets them, oh he gets them
on every one, no matter what it is
and **** if she doesn't get them too,
hell even crap gets them,
far too many times
But I shouldn't complain,
it's nice being liked,
you don't even have to hear the click
It's just hard sometimes when you realize,
you're just not as good as you thought
Feeling drowsy now I settle in
on softened splinters and peeling paint,
counting passing cars like sheep
in the soothing flicker of
a faulty flourescent sign
at the 24 hour tattoo parlor
Where needles aren’t the only thing
spurting ink, perforating skin,
creating lasting impressions
that even a beautiful sunrise
can’t erase as I fall off to a world
that doesn’t seem so bad,
at least for a few hours,
hoping that when I wake
it wakes with me
