Down On Front Street

by on October 21, 2017 :: 0 comments

This is a foggy step
An amber goo between the prints
The more there is the better chance I have of it fossilizing
I hope you get the metaphor
My paranoia limiting my patience
My paranoia
My paranoia
My paranoia
It seems that’s all there is anymore
I fight so hard to be free
Down on Front street
Just to cage myself in my cave like notions
I wonder if I could ever love again
Or if I’ve ever loved before
Perhaps all I felt was a
narcissistic sense of
ownership and betrayal
Caveman emotions trying to speak modern language
And I’m trying to get rich off of Bitcoin
I had a client say “what’s the point in investing?
We’ll all be dead soon anyways.”
I check my pulse
I pat my gun
And I think in response
“Not me motherfucker, not me.”

editors note:

Not me, either! Uh, wait… where’s my gun? – mh clay

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