Snapshots Of The Living: A Different Angle

True beauty: Tiny pixels of ugliness  surrounded by collages of true ugliness           It´s  afternoon hidden by street lights                  and       the look of death     when nothing is diffferent from before.        Everyone is  tired from apathy   and  newly forgotten vows.        Still I  suffer through the mud puddles     of petty misery.        Psuedo fires  line the streets twisting up and down and old hill  on cobblestones beaten by the feet  of animals  with purple eyelids,  and they point like lasers through holes  between their toes.     And there is  s**t from dogs, artists, and babies;  smeared like colorfields in the rain.              The skin  ripped off the bone of my fingernails drags and bleeds  against the edges of concrete sinkholes that collapse                                                  like sand.        The Police:Figments of my imagination  chase me for breaking all the windows in the warehouse  for the sake of breaking all the windows in the factory,  pushing old ladies down the street because of the sound they make  when they fall, and telling everyone to F**k Off! with a tongue  that was cut out by my parents when I was three.     As the rain trickles  seeping through the remains of tattered blue Chuck Taylor´s  oblivious to the trenchfoot slowing me down  in the sick maze of the half-dead not-alive   who drag themselves  to something they hate now that the party is over  with nothing to look forward to.                                  - January 2nd 2___.