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The Awakening

We haven’t showered in days—
Ashtrays and beer cans fill up the living room,
The wake of our binge on the lam
This agonizing lust for vivacity
Repressed by irony of consequence
With each revolution of the ceiling fan
Another moment of ecstasy lost to all
But imagination and dreams—a resignation
Hell-bent to squander what little remains
Of a catatonic despondency—once again immersed
Wallowing in that bordello—a comfortably numb daydream
Of what should have been—
Our retribution—our City of God
Nullified on the whim of nature
Such a callous gavel hog-tying the future
Condemned to linger in bleached slums of memory
Of those who’ve carried on
Even in our seedy beds that bastard hope still nags
Steadily dripping—calling us to arms
The midnight twinge in our stomachs—
We plan our revolt
Of ramen and Molotov Cocktails
Opening the eyes of a sleeping beauty so bald and plain
(the daughter of time)
we emerge—
Now saints of the world

8 Jul 08

Rated 10 (10) by 1 users.
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are you washed in the binge of the lam? do i want to know? it wouldn't matter if this was really keenly worded, with the focus you'd use to swerve and hit a porcupine on a moon lit night in your maserati... throwing molotovs between house of lords, dripping, and all them ramen at the door.
 — joey

wow. superbly masterful command of language.
i definitely can relate to |1 but most of all to the
rest of this masterpiece.
: )
 — fractalcore