as the young men forage at a hard earned supper,
street dogs gape with mixed emotions of fear and anticipation,
lights ebb in a calculated rhythm of their cautioned footsteps,
corners lose their distinct geometry; milestones...their measure,
silhouettes of men dissolve in a typical blue murk,
and the clamor of garbled voices is unusually absent,
in revolt of this nothingness, someone hums a flat tone :
...hmmmmm...
will i be missed?
the air wont care...
who's lungs it fills..
saline lips..
funny thing in my eyes..
Supercondensed summary: I am drunk on false collage pride and shit scared of taking on the corporate world. Also theres a sense of nostalgia.
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