intoxicated souls
sit at the bar
sit at the round tables
like cockroaches in high chairs
with pathetic
filthy cigarettes
that dangle
from their
lips
nonsense murmured
fronted knowledge of anothers interest
bulletproof egos
mindless speech
all
for the dawn's
soundless
void-hearted
foul
--fuck
Thursday, February 10, 2011
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