tired eyes
tired bones
if i could really talk to anyone i'd say
"hi"
"what about my tired heart?"
"yours is one of many" they'd say.
I don't know my local heroin dealer.
i'd say "hello. Where's oblivion?"
"right here" i'd hope they'd reply.
i dont know my local loner
i'd say "why are you so old?"
they'd say "go away"
i do know my local scene magazine editor.
"why did you ignore me in the street? " i'd ask.
"because i'm a fucking cuntbubble birthed from my mothers quim"
i'd hope for a response.
i am a ball of cement swaying slowly on a precipice. a precipice adjoined on all sides my sheer drops of one inch.
and if i wake up to late i dont leave the house.
i wake up late alot.
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