amber, ether, and gold wafting among the banter
everything so cold, so cold,
the women who never answer
the drink that doesn’t satiate
beginnings of your mind’s rapture
reality distant and unnamed
one more saturday wasted,
laughed away staring at the sidewalk naked and indifferent
post punk narrating the background as you take another swig
your existence paused for a moment only to resume the present tense
another jaded drunk’s narrative
poor bastard sipping and pilling away his consciousness
nights spent contemplating a means to to their end
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k. malone 