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coffee cup after cup after fucking cup. in this mortuary for the living dead as if the emotions that have turned to steal could revivify. one last time for one more night of delusive self-indulgence in beaten memories that keep coming back for more. pounding in my mind. another cup already an insomniac on a bed of blisters trying to produce an elusive improvement for a life that has turned its back on me. steady rising mummies suffocating for some sort of jolt a cause to grip and fly away on the wings of away from disappointment and failures and failures to realize anything that gives meaning or self importance or self evasion. another night looking out into the streets onto the faces of tombstones whose ruined virginities only mimic the heckling of assholes and drunkards. the emptiness in steady flowing refills. the absurdity of death, our lord and savior being the only one left to embrace. another night on the respirator with a mind that will show no mercy to itself.
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