chaosmachine

With rusted barrel, and a sour mouth, I role over and put my dirty glasses on. The blurred triple vision of the LED'S focus to a dim reading of 5:00. Homework strewn across a messy floor, bottles, glasses, bullets and promises. I step through these and head to my grey kitchen, hmmm would a pot of coffee do the trick or should i grab a bottle of old ratsputin? The sounds of a wasted day flow lazily through my living room. A message on my machine speaks of promises and good natured fun, i pick up the phone and let the words that come out sift through my head onto the carpet. Wet socks and a empty stomach lead me out the door trench coat in tow. Crunching snow and sweet apathy argue with me,
a sweet tasting clove plays devils advocate while my hunger pains play with me. all the while my face doesn't twitch or grimace even to smile. After ebing alive his long my face has it's own frown to show when walking through the crowds. In the end the disorder of it all comes back to me like missed hours of sleep bitterly wanting revenge.