Drink addled rats scurry aboard the mechanical
snake, that winds and slithers its way into the waiting
city. It’s welcoming hands, dripping with gold
and not so good intentions, beckons the unfulfilled
for another week of meaningless activity and false promises.
Stale and stagnant, the stench of a weekend of alcohol
silently drifts through it’s steel intestines to indulge us all.
A fake jovial exchange breaks the tension, as two
of the bloodshot protagonists regale the usual tales
of conquests and feats of extraordinary consumption.
Mine is a life less lived in so many different ways.
I never did become a rock legend or sporting icon,
I still haven’t found that place inside my head that will
tell me it's going to be ok. I still wake from my slumber,
sweating and afraid to die.
The weary and unclean are eliminated unceremoniously
onto the cold, grey and passionless platform. Ominously,
it will await their return and once again will make it’s greeting
in an uncompromising style.
Continuing the journey home,
the sun bursts through to warm my soul.
It’s good to know I backed the winner.
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