These Dawns are Killing Me

These dawns are killing me;
these vicious sunrises tearing my eyes,
dehydrated cortex wailing inside my porcelain skull
and always that same old promise:
never again; no more
drinking, women
chasing that chemical-sex fiery apocalypse into small hours,
fucking as though Death himself were behind me
but the answer to it all.
I feel the pressure with the smile of a stranger
to stroke the event to it’s demanded conclusion,
be it enlightnement of a fellow male
or the desperate sweaty copulation with women of names
too easy to forget. And as I cum,
be it sexually, or intellectually, I fall
into the depression with the realization of the pointlessness of it all.
How many stranger’s lives and beds have I danced through
Bacchus reborn wild and insane?
And always, there, in the corner of vision, in the shadows
lies an answer that can’t be found
in any guitar, any cunt, any one’s life but my own,
but because that requires work and effort
it is far easier to treat all as a game:
play and fuck, fuck and play
fucking and drinkingdesperation
this life away…..
this life away……
this life away
into another hemisphere and stay.
Leave me be,
this mocking fucking role
you built for me.
I can’t do this anymore-
feel myself dying
into nihilism with a passion.
A living contradiction
I struggle to.
I resolve to stop
after
just one more
empty night. I promise.
Oh, empty Night, I promise.

These Dawns are Killing Me

mkl .

Paris, France

  • Artwork Comments 6

Artwork Comments

  • Sally Omar
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  • mkl .
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