I sit at a bar with dried leaf walls
And high life that tastes like light bulb
a fiendish looking old man with liver spots that look like rusted metal
tells me that dying is only slightly more inconvenient than living
chuckling through a freshly packed lip of stained glass
I piss into a trough and watch the ice melt
I sit at a desk and oblige a similar stream

I hoped I’d win enough tickets to save our marriage or leave it
Or a fish in a bag
Or a fuckable commemorative candle
Maybe we’d be happy then
Maybe we’d do what they couldn’t

For now, we succumb to the weight of destruction in the air
And hope that our consciousness dwindles in unison with the sanity of the old man
Or the dull glow of neglected machines
Responsible for our salvation


April 29, 2022 Minted: die with the most likes
April 29, 2022 Purchased for 8Ξ: neonmonk