Coffee and tequila do nothing for me now.
It’s 3:00 AM, bloodshot eyes degenerated by
misconceptions. A delirium dream of sedated
presence. Overlapping my emotions like a
I love no one, now I remember. It is a waste
of space, love. I amuse myself in electric bar
rooms, I never pick anyone up but I watch them.
All of them crawling up onto one another like a
bad melody. There’s some beauty in this shattered
Some for self-esteem, some for money, or some
for fame. And they love nothing but an illusion of
glamour girls, an illusion of luxurious taste, they all
serve and sever like media under a hard candy shell.
They keep licking at it hoping it cums.
And the drugs, were the best excuse. And for statuses
of society that they believed in dreams, they dreamed
statues of themselves. No youth could hold so much
sadness. Horny on gloss. Horny on webbed screens.
Jacking us off like a new species.
My body a corpse of flowers, it dies softly with time
coming over it. My mind dies vacantly hollowed like
the music at the clubs they play. Sometimes I seem
to be happy, sometimes I smile at the viagra perfume
they all merry around their necks, cocks, and cunts..
Sometimes I believe I could be so heartless, supposedly
I am more dissolved.
Love seems not to knock on the door, it crawls like a
disease being born inside of you. I hope it doesn’t call
for me, I hope they lied about it. It was all made believe
I read it in a magazine, while you were softly masturbating
next to me.