bus stop sketch recorded via shitty cellphone
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unwillingly waiting for
the necessity of my return
a place to sleep tonight
and more then just burn
shit eat live dream
what makes it worth the trouble
when every beauty is a fragile mask hiding loathing
and death?
I try to find the joy in its continuance
with each breath, each nuanced beat and poor
bored disheartened
kid on the street
lookout roadside
hardened landscape, you luscious flower!
I'm simply lusting to devour you
but find it so hard to trust illusions so pretty
useless, and vain, don't question why
its so fucking hard loving anything in this city
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