thursday night spent sober
reading about things and people
who will never concern me,
as they eat in crumbling whorehouses
and sleep in psilyocybin taxi cabs.
people who get what they want
through a combination of luck and fate,
while they swallow acetone
and stick talking needles into their arms,
filling their bodies
from head to toe
with shameless bliss.
last night spent outside
with pimply teenage alter ego,
staring at non-existant bright lights
and talking about things that can only be discussed
under proper circumstance, subconciously fading
into what is as close to silence as possible
with the absence of nothing in our world
but two ignorant voices, drifting thereafter into a reluctant sleep
only to wake three hours later
with the stench of
cat piss and self deprecation.