Lonesome Punk Blues
i'm tired of hobbled honesty, tied to a splintered stake with a short tightrope of lies, of people who can't say what they want or mean and drunken desperation and melancholy poetry that never seem to count. i'm feeling edgy; it's much too quiet and my throat yearns to scream. too many yells held in, too much frustration kept on an abrading sisal leash. i'll wrap my arms around this bitterness tonight and sleep next to it; i know its edges will leave me bloody by morning, but it's warm and a sort of company. it's better than the loneliness. it's better than the sound of a closing apartment door in an empty room. all these angles, all this dissonance. broken bottles on fingertips wrenching notes from strung out guitars and bending them until they break in surrender. the chords resonate long after we leave, long after someone sweeps the broken glass away and the lights go out with a click. i draw another breath and exhale, the smoke curling around my fingers like the winter morning mist which is only a few months distant, but days drag out like months now which means i've got what will seem like years left to wait. crush another can. take another drag. and wait for this chilling season to change.