poisoned air of the filthy night

She was out there moving
through the obsessive haze
and the oppressive heat
of the humid night
dreaming of a rescue
and hoping for a fuck
that wasn't too degrading

He laid on his kitchen floor
staring at the ceiling fan
the dog hair under the cabinet
using up all of his shine
to make himself contented
laying there alone
talking to the dog

Always the poisoned air
of the filthy night
enters their lungs
and doesn't care
their brief little lives
the lights they have
but never turn on

ick

clickity clicking through the insomnia

lickity split I write down these lines

without knowing this slow burning rage

without feeling this blanket of depression

I'd have no friends to mention on this page

ickity ick ickity ick I think I'll be sick.