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a cockroach crawls across her bloody thigh, nobody knows her name the manager wants to know when they'll haqve her body out so he can rent the room again. *** i saw a puddle in an alley looked like a face was it smiling? no, that was me. *** he comes home from work, angry and alone. he masturbates to a picture of a pretty blond in an old girly mag wishing her lips, her hands, her breasts were real glad that they're not. he hates women. stupid bitches always yelling at him. always belittling him. making him feel like he ain't a man. god damned whores, making his dick get big when he's alone, shriveling it up when they're near. why can't they - he - love him? *** he lights his last cigarette and buries his hands in his coat pockets. walks the streets cause there's nowhere else to go, no one left who loves him. he catches a glimpse of his reflection in a storefront window. shit, he needs some sleep. a warm bed, not having to watch his back while he tries to resr - what wouldn't he give for that? he ain't got nothing left, so it doesn't matter anywat. *** he's just doing it for the money, that's all doesn't mean he's that way. he can't stand going down on those men, makes him want to puke afterwards. but they pay him, usually, and the drugs cost money, and he can't escape the hell his life's become without them. he ain't like that, really. it's just a job, like McDonald's. except that it isn't. *** the coffee's terrible, but it's warm in here, and they don't hassle her. something by Ministry plays too loudly on the radio, as she scribbles her thoughts down in her little black notebook. she can't remember what she wrote just two pages ago. doesn't matter. she'll re-read it when she's done, just before she tosses it in the trash. when she was a kid, she used to write to escape. escape what? who the hell cares. now she writes because it hurts too much not to. she doesn't think she'll be famous some day. she knows her writing will never be good enough, hell, didn't her father always tell her she'd never amount to anything. and he was right. *** his roof leaks and it makes him mad. ker-plunk ker-plunk ker-plunk. a life of shit and hard work and this is what he gets - a leaky roof, more cockroaches than friends, waiting, always waiting .... for his social security checks, for his roof to get fixed, for death to finally come. seems he's always waiting for something. ker-plunk ker-plunk *** she cowers in her room, hungry and afraid. in the next room her dad's passed out drunk again. but he won't stay that way, and she knows what comes next. her body still hurts from the last time. she pulls the covers over her head and cries hoping it doesn't last too long this time. *** an angry beast stalks the city streets. he is self-hate, and confusion. he is impotence, and poverty. he is a lonely person's lust, he is anger and fraud. he is a shadow in the alley, a urine stain on the sidewalk. open your heart to him and slit your wrists, for he is the death of dreams, and a meaningless life. |
