Hello sunshine
The clock reads 3:46
To me it’s just after midnight,
I keep odd hours,
Like the copious,
my tongue is burning,
from the rock,
and my eyes are fixated on the wall,
a cigarette in my right hand,
half drunk Gatorade in the other.
I worry,
About finances,
night pushes forward,
clocks advance,
half empty water bottles collect condensation,
the lights flicker,
power outage.
I open the window,
the ash descends onto the porch,
the filter full of chemicals stops working,
every bit of death forces it’s way into my lungs,
and it’s now one a.m. for me.
I look at my final paycheck,
I trusted the payers,
I trusted most of them
I worked hard,
I lived the job,
the Gatorade is digesting among the whiskey.
My fingers are taunt,
The nouns apposition,
Coalescing in the night,
Burning slowly,
Capturing nothing as they work their way to the surface of conversation.
What was I saying,
Oh yes,
The difference in time,
The hours in which we lead our lives,
I’ve begun to scratch my way through the wooden door,
Occasionally ash-ing my cigarette on the panels in hopes to ignite a spark,
set this premise ablaze,
and soon day light surfaces,
my three a.m. is here.
To me it’s just after midnight,
I keep odd hours,
Like the copious,
my tongue is burning,
from the rock,
and my eyes are fixated on the wall,
a cigarette in my right hand,
half drunk Gatorade in the other.
I worry,
About finances,
night pushes forward,
clocks advance,
half empty water bottles collect condensation,
the lights flicker,
power outage.
I open the window,
the ash descends onto the porch,
the filter full of chemicals stops working,
every bit of death forces it’s way into my lungs,
and it’s now one a.m. for me.
I look at my final paycheck,
I trusted the payers,
I trusted most of them
I worked hard,
I lived the job,
the Gatorade is digesting among the whiskey.
My fingers are taunt,
The nouns apposition,
Coalescing in the night,
Burning slowly,
Capturing nothing as they work their way to the surface of conversation.
What was I saying,
Oh yes,
The difference in time,
The hours in which we lead our lives,
I’ve begun to scratch my way through the wooden door,
Occasionally ash-ing my cigarette on the panels in hopes to ignite a spark,
set this premise ablaze,
and soon day light surfaces,
my three a.m. is here.