Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of My Mental Empire - Part Forty-Nine

throw it in the fire! - feet tapping and fists downing the bottle of smoke, the flavour of the night - swear and rasp - be held back from the fight, you were never going to win - drink to the mystic of irish folk music - drink to the mysteries of endless love and sex and a never-ending desire build in deep like your standard guilt-trip - let them sleep - turn the volume down - run down the streets and wave until someone pulls over and ask them if they have anything to drink and if not, get in and give directions - the first thing you'll notice will be the car-seat covers - how novelty - like a pathetic drunk a few years before he realises what he's become - the seat's warm and you feel like your intruding - am i intruding? you ask

some movie with subtitles is showing - you turn down the volume and listen to some music as you read the movie - the light from the television guiding you to the fridge for another beer - you play games with yourself in your head and you wonder how long before you can guess what country the film was made in, or is based in - you always assume iceland - island - till you fall asleep on the coach in splendour and wake up in shame - walking yourself to bed at seven am, hoping you'll be able to fall asleep again before you feel guilty need to get out of bed

the kitchen light
left on all day
- empty house, 3pm

the fear of waking up
your loved one
- but then you don't

soft breaths of sleep
- but my head buzzes
with paranoia

walking by the busker
- maybe i should've
given him something

i didn't notice
the ticking clock
- until now

a simple hug;
easily forgotten
- he'll never forget

and then suddenly,
the traffic stops!
- for a moment or two

so many people
under-estimating
the setting sun

what's the point?
the universe is
simply too big!

unable to play an instrument,
he sits in bliss
- tapping his foot

oh music!
your slave pleads of you -
never stop!

a weak handshake
warms the heart
of the pure souls

forgotten and neglected
like midnight clouds
- i get myself a beer

in such a hurry
he trips over the newspaper
- he has work to do

so many clocks, so little time
so many phones,
...nobody

the church -
and now im here
with nothing to write

who loves who,
more than who?
- we both lose

standing by the rubbish bins
his thoughts are as clear
as newspaper headlines