Pay Phone

Hanging around street corners, pay phones, and junky motels, I stare into the passing faces Some look away in disgust, some just look away, not wanting to know, never asking why? Who would want to believe, it might have been, or could be them, looking dirty, paranoid, free Some want to help, want to save us from our self imposed misery, as if theirs ( misery ) is some how better than ours. Ha! Even if they could help (and they can’t) We would not take it It is not we who are sick It is not we, who are prisoners Raised on the beautiful lies that mommy and daddy feed, Fueled by a corrupt system and the false history they teach We did not sale you your disappointment your counterfeit dreams, or “ LIVE AT ELEVEN LIVES” I see the hypocrite shaking his finger at me, hiding in his big mortgage, big car and lovely whoring wife… He wants to know why I’m smiling, in my holey jeans, Long hair, and bad teeth [Soulless] He wonders what this hot little girl on my arm sees in me? In her to short shorts, too short shirt, and sad expressions. [ broken] He turns away, but questions remain What does it mean to let go? to slip away in the night to live where wavy walls meet dirty floors, and broken windows look out onto fading streets. Where smiles and laughter are bought one at a time, and are as temporary as the sadness in-between Here in this world where no one wants to be, and no one can leave Where the dragon holds the key, and just one fix will set you free The broken whores old thieves, dopers, and creeps The ones left in the cracks to disease And still the questions remain Why? why you or why not me and what does it mean, to be looking dirty, paranoid, free…