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Fuck it;)

Word smith an unintelligent gun smith power lives, in the sound between your lips so girls bend your hips just jokes so, Netflix and chill, ...

Wednesday, 14 February 2018

Play time.

Eyes glazed, to an unwanted night
shuffle through the crowd, with a hand gripped pint
a moth like momentum towards the bar light
a smile and a gentle voice asks, "what would you like"
look at bottles of dull drinks meant to excite
order another with an added shot, a liquid firelight
inside runs cold, shot down, nothing about tonight seems right
twisted logic that the drink will feed the appetite
green note to pay the barmaid, a mimicked "thanks" to keep it polite
repeated hand gripped pint as I move out the spotlight
towards the open doors of the nicotine hazed moonlight
step out, turn my back to the gleeful strangers sight
for fear of the dreaded social invite
eyes gaze the stars, to imagine life at a celestial height
where time is the most celebrated playwright
and my only purpose is to recite, the eternal words until the daylight

but alas I'm fixed to play a part in an unknown scene
to rediscover places the author's already been
although always present, a concept never seen
so with a beer I listen, for the narrative, that the starlights read.