"It's okay, some guy just tried to suck on my tit."
Harsh lights, loud noises,
nothing of consequence.
people lined up like marching ants
to drink, smoke, and fuck themselves into the closest thing to oblivion they know.
Whoops, cheers, guffaws line the side of the street
tall, short, black, white, and everything in-between
I suppose we all have it in common, don't we?
That niggling seed sitting in our chests
Growing restless with every new day that we spend
our true purpose
A feeling of this-isn't-quite-right that can
only be extinguished
with a bit (or a lot) of liquor, the dying embers of a carcinogen
and the feel of other bodies close by, moving in sweaty, messy rhythm with ours.
I suppose we all suffer the same, don't we?
Brought into life, kicking and screaming, then begrudgingly thrown into a world
that treats us all like outsiders
our lives encapsulated in the palm of a colossal, maybe-not-there Being
who decides at will whether or not we take our next breath.
there is a shuffling of feet, some more noise, the queue creeps forward, people huddling together for warmth now.
I suppose we all bleed the same, don't we?
Passing our pain on in different strains like a new Anthrax, Spanish Flu, Plague
from which we will collectively never recover
blinking in the blinding light of our own Egos
and mindlessly passing our days
until, if we're lucky
we manage to cling to some semblance of happiness
and, if we're unfortunate
pass on more harm than hope.
The line contracts once more
a millipede of human bodies accordion-ing forward towards the dimly-lit hovel
I sigh, and turn to leave.