An afternoon, downtown
A drowsy afternoon without any prospect of improvement. Alcohol and solitude mix together bitterly. Now the dry, sunburnt pain has grown so vast and volatile, it’s caught up with me even in this rumbling downtown café. Even rock ‘n’ roll sounds like death. The dusk is poisoning my sight. I cannot be saved. The terror of night can only be reluctantly postponed. # “It hurts to be awake.” -stolen, from Moody. Precisely. I go to sleep at night, struggling to shed today; I beg the world to leave me alone, until another day. To breath is effortless, but to live is so hard. # While my dreams are bursting at the seams, my pages are blank. If to dream is to escape, why not escape by writing, in consciousness as well? # I used to ride up and down these streets and alleys. I used to belong. I used to sing. I look out the windows that are dampen by the dried raindrops sprawling all across my beloved city. Sur