The deafening echo of what you don’t hear, and the dirt roads tattooed on your soles
Lost hope staring back at you from bathtub rings, cheap whiskey masked in champagne bottles
Faces prettier in cracked mirrors and fly-adorned orange lights still buzzing
Hallucination set off by creative lust, longing for raw sound, typewriter keys and blatant mistakes
As if dirtiness will make up for emptiness, as if black and white will make you a silent film
Crumpled pages that were blank, hungry eyes kept thin and unsatisfied
A million curbs sat, a million bottles emptied, a million lives wasted
Fantasy of having other fantasies, never taking a single drag or starving a single dream