calm harshbeat.
calm next to the glossy wet trash piles, black plastic bags and me in rags looking bright in the soft dingy night. By the street light.
guess im alright.
it shines detailed and oily for the folks walking by to the sound of loudon’s lullaby, and my tin cup filled always with water for to sip. theres much to skip as we take this rambling trip.
used kits and black eyed tits in the bed on the floor. Just cram the remains of the pillow through yer head and let feathers tickle yer brain. it feels insane.
and that itch is to complain, my shadow wanes by the running plane, windy and the end, sometime past to then start again.
with the same loves and the same things, the same notions
and the same dreams.
