There's only one kind of normal
But infinite types of weird

Just the dull sighing of cars
As they float by my window
Projecting trailing shadows across the wall
Just the pale gleam of the moon
As it barely lights up the earth
And just a small man
In his bed
Seeing this
Hearing this
In this
But incapable of grappling with this
And what this is

the smoke rings live my lips
in lign
forming a long
oooo
that floats
dances
falls and rises
around me
and i am wrapped in smoke
and dusty memories
on this december sunday

Lacklove and manless in Moloch
Vile ******* in Moloch
Moloch
In whom I set disinherited
Dispirited
Listing to Arvo Pärt
As civilisations wax and wane around me
As towers are raised to the sky
Left to rot
Then lived in
As the furnaces of the world whirr on incandescently
And as I try to use long words to make it all seem better
And as words finally fail

I lost myself between your limbs
But found myself in your smile

They say
Have common sense
Be perceptive and analytical
Be careful
Be reasonable
Be moderate
But a deficiency of all those
Is love

Night bus
And the pug nosed guy in the suit over there
Staring me down
Is a thousand broken dreams
And the young girl down there
Who looks weird
But my kind of weird
Is a thousand unexplored
And the ***** with the cap trying to finish off his crossword
Is Gil Scott-Heron
And no one sits next to me as I spill my poison through the keypad into a cracked screen