somesortofpatheticattempt
a dirty martini for a dirty mind
knocking back the drinks at the closing and wailing hours
beckoning for somesort of wish that
one doesn't really care for
you aren't alive unless you're playing dead
and so you ignore the crumbling cookie
maybe you haven't even picked it up
slicing through tomato apocalips service
with a moment to lose just to give them all up
for the last one
you aren't dead unless someone is smiling for you
you pretend there is something there
in a peel of icy zest that mutilates your tongue
hoping to savour a well grown cunt
rooted to the ground by opinionated phrase
you aren't waiting until you run away
knowing the lie is all in the coming
you really aren't there
so why are you trying?