Rubbish
You could attract a Mongolian prime ape from ten thousand miles away in a shirt like that.
Knocking down freelance lawyers and primeval bank managers as you plow through the rotten terrain.
Where is life?
Hiding amongst the nonsense that people write in their desperate hours?
Someones let off a skunk, the poisons filling the room faster than a dehydrated hooligan coming off a sitcom high.
Ive got 3 hours sleep and the imagination of Bob Dole on a winters evening with 10 vaccuums left to sell.
Anything for a sale, anything.
My dignity for a chocolate bar filled with taffy that stretches across the universe latching up mysterious organs so we can pretend to understand.
Lets understand, its a fun game, certainly beats pronouncing foreign syllables and making eye contact.
Were practically blind anyway, in more ways than one.
Isnt that fascinating?
Want to comment on this Prose?
Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Prose and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...
|
 |
|