And Life Goes On

My black Nissan Altima
sits in the sinkhole of time
with cars on every side,
the radio is playing
corny 80s music
and the sun is nearly
on it's way out the door,
I call out it's name
try to yell a last goodbye
but it's too late,
the door is closed
and only a pink memory
lingers among the dark blue
that accentuates the start of
the nights song.
30 minutes turn to an hour
and traffic has only moved
a couple of inches,
all the faces I pass
are blank and agitated,
everyone going home,
it's been a long and gruesome day
in a city composed of hell,
the cars grunt
and the people sigh,
exits flash by,
road signs blur the stars
and the cities
beside the highway boom
with the friday crowd.
Nearly there, nearly here,
a soul leaves it's body every second,
the cars honk and puff their chest out,
on the side homeless men walk by
staring deeply at the lights
that burst from the cars,
they look almost amazed,
smoke rises from their mouths
as they contemplate
their lives or ours, either or,
can't decide which fate is worse,
wonder what they think.
The drums of a Billy Idol song
pound on the speakers
as I finally reach my exit,
my city is bleeding,
on every corner men lay on the concrete,
they yell at the moon
and drink themselves into oblivion,
humanity is less humane than
I once believed it was,
the cop cars chase no one in particular,
the fast food restaurants cater to the
emptiness in every walking soul.
As I pull into my driveway
I step out of the polluted ocean,
the crickets cry
and death creeps around
dragging his fingers through
the water,
I sit down at my desk
with a bottle of whiskey,
silence echoes through the abyss,
the clanking of the typewriter
awakens the bats that hang from the roof,
"I'm nothing like the rest." I tell myself.
But I know I'm just like them
and they're just like me,
a collective bubble of refined misery,
in the streets they have it worse,
I drink till blood spills from my mind
and onto the typewriter,
can't tell if I'm rotting or blooming
doesn't really seem to matter anymore.