KurtAurelius
Bluelighter
He walks around the grey streets,
Full view of the dull modern decorum.
Noses to phones, ruddy faces, overweight shuffles.
Cigarette butts on the floor, groups of pigeons and buses rushing past.
Behind the sunglasses I see the battlegrounds of the end piece.
The world that will turn to smouldering ash, as I see the collagen in my eye burst them alight.
Fumes of gas and dust through the asphalt.
Through one kind of conflict or the other,
I look at ghosts who walk dead.
Lost to the underworld they inhabit.
The indifference of them is the music I hear them screaming.
It is one that results in the ringing that is left in my ears,
I am in my disguises, hoods to avoid the nets.
My purposes no longer involve being in this vicinity,
Except for requiring certain accesses.
I walk to the drug store.
You call them pharmacies, or vitamin stores.
I see it for what it is.
My drug dealer of trivial treats,
For I don’t want the jaundice,
Nor the emphysema.
It costs me near all my money for one lowly treat,
A mad scientist’s concoction.
Still left to me to experiment with.
I put myself in a state of delirium to get someone to listen to me,
Absolutely insane so I can create,
The only renewable escape from this prison I am enslaved in.
My indifference is a pain that has long been killed.
One I am running out of ways to explain,
I have seen but have uncovered no more answers,
I lay here reporting, trying to conceive.
But there is only some resolution.
A passing confusion,
A fog that will comfort me somewhat for some long,
It is an ability.
To retreat from the utter absurdity.
But not for long,
Long it will come back.
It will come back.
Nothing to soften the blows.
Other than this, repeated in some form or some manner every time the need arises.
So have fun with that.
So, I would like you to have fun with that.
Full view of the dull modern decorum.
Noses to phones, ruddy faces, overweight shuffles.
Cigarette butts on the floor, groups of pigeons and buses rushing past.
Behind the sunglasses I see the battlegrounds of the end piece.
The world that will turn to smouldering ash, as I see the collagen in my eye burst them alight.
Fumes of gas and dust through the asphalt.
Through one kind of conflict or the other,
I look at ghosts who walk dead.
Lost to the underworld they inhabit.
The indifference of them is the music I hear them screaming.
It is one that results in the ringing that is left in my ears,
I am in my disguises, hoods to avoid the nets.
My purposes no longer involve being in this vicinity,
Except for requiring certain accesses.
I walk to the drug store.
You call them pharmacies, or vitamin stores.
I see it for what it is.
My drug dealer of trivial treats,
For I don’t want the jaundice,
Nor the emphysema.
It costs me near all my money for one lowly treat,
A mad scientist’s concoction.
Still left to me to experiment with.
I put myself in a state of delirium to get someone to listen to me,
Absolutely insane so I can create,
The only renewable escape from this prison I am enslaved in.
My indifference is a pain that has long been killed.
One I am running out of ways to explain,
I have seen but have uncovered no more answers,
I lay here reporting, trying to conceive.
But there is only some resolution.
A passing confusion,
A fog that will comfort me somewhat for some long,
It is an ability.
To retreat from the utter absurdity.
But not for long,
Long it will come back.
It will come back.
Nothing to soften the blows.
Other than this, repeated in some form or some manner every time the need arises.
So have fun with that.
So, I would like you to have fun with that.
