Thursday, May 24, 2012

Four cups of coffee get me through the day.

Black, of course, because sugar makes me feel sick these days. Just like getting on the gritty subways underground, where grinding wheels carry the dead to white screens, and civilized men turn into half-starved animals. Wolves on the prowl. 

They leer at me, breathe down my neck, sink dirty claws on my shivering skin. I am immobilized. There's nowhere to hide

except in my own head, fists clenched, teeth clenched, wondering through which ring of hell exactly this speeding vessel transports me.

1 comment:

  1. The way you write is transcendent.


Write me a song.