Wednesday, January 20, 2016

2 AM [Reprise]

I held the cup of coffee
in my shivering hands
to transmit some warmth
to my fingers so I could
type away
on the highway of night
as it fucks itself away
into a new morning
through the hour of bad things
the hour of the wolf
and the hour of drunken sunrises
on some lost road
where the passing cars
send shivers of death down your spine
and you stand there
you stand there
staring at the rising sun
ready with your fucking cameraphone
to capture it, put a filter on it
and upload it on Instagram
i am sorry, i apologize
for this random outburst
i have a little right to be angry, no?
how come your sunrises get more hearts that my sunrises?
is it the filters you use? or the angle of your camera?
how many megapixels is the soul of an image?
i am just asking
but you need these answers
because i know, baby
i already know
as a mad man once told me on the side of a road
buddy buddy, he said, you can write all the lies
in your prose, you can create a world of lies
but when you write a poem, buddy
you'll be naked hung upon a cross
and crows will poke your eyes
if you dare to lie
in a poem

it's 2 AM again
and i'm here with my story
my fingers are cold
my coffee is gone
i am feeling a queer sort of sadness
i should've slept early
i should've slept early

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