Friday, August 14, 2009
Death in The Morning
I found myself weeping. The walls were closing in. The beer was gone. She was gone. I decided to leave the bar, not before breaking something. The garage door hit my forehead with a good crash. I felt like a psycho. The bouncer said I went "mental". Suicide was the only answer. Poor, black, angry. The night called my name. It's voice whispered crack rocks and rigs at me. The hooker on the corner smoked and smoked and sucked and smoked. This life is meaningless. I'm just waiting for Death to take me away.