there must be years of pressure and hard abuse behind
these plaster walls
because when i feel tired, (more than even)

it's almost like this place harmonizes
and gives me its sympathy
sagging in tune with my sickened breath

like someone too drunk to hit the right keys

like when you catch a meaningless whiff of
fresh asphalt, hot and plain

and suddenly you know that
your appetite has been plundered

like how you lay there for hours when you go up the stairs
and forget about the top step
because, you know it's not worth it anymore

because,

this place steals me

07/25/2005

Author's Note: Written Monday morning, July 25th, 2005.

Posted on 07/25/2005
Copyright © 2025 Corey Lockaby