I have a bottle of tequila and an attitude and straight razor with the bleak night going on for miles to endless horizons. I'm looking for a motel where I can rest a weary soul at last.
Comrade, our fragile freedoms are gone. We just don't know it yet. We've been betrayed by our politicians who sold their empty souls for bags of silver. We send our sons to die in their wars. They drink Champagne toasting wins and dismiss massacres as bad luck. Where did it all go wrong? We pay.
I'm ageless as the ruins of Rome. I live in the white cliffs of Dover. I'm the Pyramids and Great Wall. I'm the tiny voices in your head that never leave you alone and chant your failures out loud in bed with lovers never satisfied. I'm Death's brutal echo forever.
Not all love is lost as time can't heal all wounds. Lust has no use for time beyond a fortnight. It withers. Keep your heart under lock and key but your knees apart for my midnight wine stoked visit to your sacred chamber.
Paint me in watercolor. Bring me back to life. Hues of laughter and desire, light inside brilliant light husky brawling of youth half naked, sweating, proud.
I bring you invisible to the party to meet my friends on an autism spectrum. They drink every third beer and **** on the hour. They avoid eye contact and guess your IQ and love your smell and fear you. They like us. They invite us to come again.