It's ok
I understand
It's always about
you
you
you
Thanks for not asking
But I'm doing well too
Still looking down at the dirt
Watering the flowers with
My tears

Isolated on this Island
Surrounded by the high tides of madness
I'm happy here
In the mornings I sing to myself and
At night I dance under a pale moon
My only discomfort are the seaguls who ****
on my one man parade
Many hours I spend on shore
Fishing for a bottle
A pipe
A good women
But the waves are harsh and relentless
They deny me entry
My salvation is lost out at sea
**** the ship and it's livley cargo
Where's my vice ?

My mailman should be burnt at the steak
Too often do I run into him during his daily
affairs with the same demented smile on his calloused visage
What does he know?
What does he possess that I lack?
I'm beggening to think that
he's reading my letters
Here's to you, ******.

The last cigarette of the pack
Life has been reduced to empty boxes
Trivial conversations
Hollow gestures
And bleeding fingertips
Listen , you don't need love
You need a warm **** to
Bury yourself in until
The storm passes
It's 3 in the morning
Half drunk
Half remembered
The minutes shatter in my mouth
Like glass and people
save me
That's all you'll ever hear me say
But Salvation is a passing car
On a one way street
To nowhere

This morning
I awoke to an empty bed
She was long gone.
And I thought to myself
"What a wonderful
little waste of my time"

Too many
Sad words
Wasted on
Sad girls
With delicate
Faces

"Mercy" she responds
In a tone which i can
Only attribute to a
diluted sense of pride
"No, I asked you what your
name was"
A slight tilt of the head
And I see the creases
Unfolding from the
Muscles in her lips
The pantheon of drunkards
and moon lit fairies
Fade away in that instance
And I'm looking at the
target with my eyes shut
The instance drags itself
into eternity and simmers
"Well, you're parents had
a wicked sense of hindsight"
The words clammer off the tip
Of my tongue  
But she's already gone
She was never really here