Black opaline walks - across bars and the smell of cigarettes smashed into the bodies of their own Lamb Saj and Pizza under 'closed' sign of the cafe lights It's okay to walk alone, just as long as I remember to stay sober.

Are we just eggs stabbed by the low quality poems - written by cliche old men

We found our days Slightly above water Drifting away on the solo raft of home

Make a list.

Cacophony of isolation Webbed from single objects Fans are the white tools we mostly forget Ticking of clocks, mostly ongoing Nothing is new Aside from the falling of a tree

words that have no meaning poems that end on a low note tomorrow is just version two

please sir I am fairly drunk even after four hotdogs

Worked out, can't muster the care or dignity to take a shower. Box wine, it's empty.

A plethora of dim but warm lights; Strategically placed in a cozy ambient room; Maybe some fans on -or Lofi/chillhop/jazz beats to relax to; 24/7

Mulched roots Darkened by shelves Maybe it's too cold