Friday, November 21, 2008

Untitled #22

My expectations,
Already low,
Fall past the line
As I'm carried around
From high point
To dead end

I'm forced to mingle
With the next in a long chain
Of successors
Internal struggles over ancient jewelry sets
Nearly extinguished
For the appeal of wide-open escapes
Full of hiding places
Passed down
To those deemed worthy

Then come the double-decker bus trips
And charitable contributions of my time
All shades of gray sucking me dry
Before freedom finally rings

I get club dizzy
With faces that could care less

They discuss compilation sets
As I gently pet their orange cat,
And continue to lie through my teeth
As if I were the person
With a made-up identity
And origin

I catch the remains of my father's night
Exiting our hotel room,
Moments after I hop off of the elevator
With a joyous disposition,
An offshoot of the facade

She's brunette,
Like mother

The suits don't explain
And I seek silence before answers
The synthesized beats still spinning
In the back of my head

Such perfect nights will soon dry up
Before being advertised as rare on EBay

- C.W.

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