Bar Scene

Cold hearts sway to timid tones. We hum hard; hoping to rattle the grit out of our mouths. Sand blasted teeth resonate youthful denial, torturing revelation’s bargain. No cheap tricks. No sunshine, we’re all gone. Too drunk on pain, to find hope in the rainfall of liquor in this dusty scene. Too many empty bottles chugging on air; the last breaths of my generation. A swirling vortex of broken condoms and vomited promises dance in neon light behind the bar, threatening to dive into the mouth of the next patron that calls to the bartender. A violent eyed harlot with dollars bursting out of her bra. She serves death with a smile, gyrating her hips to a beat …that never dances. She just throws ice into our blood and glances at the tip jar.. Knowing we’ll pay our own way to hell. -James Kelley 2013, All rights reserved.