Thursday night.

In dark purple lights

and whiskey breath and smoke screen imaginations

I see that no matter what I think, I am still missing my soul

Beat the drum and hold all my calls

this devil will be there when you leave a voicemail

and when the music stops.

Who am I these days to you world?

Am I a pawn or am I a pioneer?

Neither fit in to my social profile but regardless

I am changing the scene with my wit.

And that pale eyed stranger

who can't stop staring at my feet

well they can go away for all I care

because they are not the answer

and I am just not even there, not really.

Maybe my first inclination is what I should trust

and I should go grab my coat and run from this place

get into my comfortable place and take care of business

But is it really business if nobody is interested

Probably someone will take the bait if I mark it down enough

But why should I when I used to be worth so much more than that?

Red stickers and slashed in half is the value of my soul

and never is this more apparent as when

I am doing my laundry and

washing the sadness off of my sheets.

Reviews

[Robbie~xoxo~]

Wow! You spoke to me in this... very thought provoking. You really hit it home with the last four lines. Great write!

[EMF]

Damn your good. I know that I've said that before, but you are. You have bred a darkness here that captivates. Both bleak and atmospheric, it interlaces sadness with hope, and comes to a point where the reader is forced to interpret potentiality of resolution. This may be one of the best I've read of your works. Superb