I always stay too late. I am always the last to leave, The one left to taste the soured wine Passed in frantic effort To regain the spirit, Get burnt by the embers Of hysterical bodies Trying to rekindle the longspent fire. Last to leave And first to come off that high Brought on by either ethers or ethos First to sniff the stale smiles that linger in the air Long after the fleeting fancy That brought them has left. I always leave too late, And as I totter home, I am always emptier in the dying hours Drained from…
Days Like This
Days like this are the worst. Days where I stumble around In states of undress; Listlessness has made me hot. Days like this I wish I’d taken up smoking. At least it would give me Something to do With my hands, My mouth, My lungs, Least the Devil Seeks to employ me With his other idle souls, While I wait For the universe, Fate, Destiny, To figure out what to do with me… Days like this are the worst.