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What to do?
What to do when the ghosts are calling you
luring you back with your own hopeless love
after they came after you with knives
got you smoking again, drinking too much
but not being stupid like they are
only now can I swing on the back porch in peace
only now can i feel calm
and then you called…
now
so much, so much, so much
how do i balance now against the rush of
true freedom,
if they are not ready for it
and i don’t want it until…
because I want them more than freedom
and i see how they do too
it’s their family, their friends, their life
they are the ones who will feel their blood
trickling down their face
instead of some money gone
if they prepared
their desperate fight fills me with hope
even though their fight is as useless as mine
but that is exactly what brings us so close
and i know their desire is the same as mine:
peace
a moment to lay in bed
a moment to kiss the girl they want
a moment to be and not worry, except about stupid shit
a moment of thoughtlessness,
this truth we hold to be self evident.
moore fresh
he knows i was born under a bad sign
because of her
and i know he knows i’ll hold it down,
pull though
because of his guidance
he knows
i’ll keep on through the pains
i’ve got his discipline
but i have the same attraction
i’ll fall prey to the same hunter
but i’ll be reborn unlike him
because i’ve chosen to see
or i’ve been gifted with his curse
enough to realize
when to say
fuck you
fresh
whiskey, breasts, beer, bukowski
how i love thee
the lamp on the path
to pizza crusts and frustration
to realization of true love and futility
thank fuck for mingus chanting love
driving me towards the hope of a moment of peace amidst it all
i saw that girl and it wasn’t just work that made her scowl
all sad when you look at them
from what some fucking asshole did years ago or
yesterday probably
but i can’t break all their legs,
sorry babe
i can’t pray to god to make it all go away
really the only pathetic thing i can say
is to listen to that saxophone or drum
let it wash over you like the rain
try to forget just like me
all the pain and knives
forget the police and the bracelets
forget the guilt
just have a drink
try to escape the loneliness made all the more real
by all these empty bodies
pretty, drunk, vapid,
fucking when i’m sitting here writing this
something old, unfinished
haven’t been in a mood to finish it lately, but why waste it on only me?
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