train running through

i'm not what i used to be.

i'm -
worse.

i could say sorry a hundred
times but that wouldn't take
back this feeling of

fuck-it-all-dom.


so,
i might as well be
screwed
by a hooker every single night
for all the love
i'm getting.
and life's not what it
used to be, but it's not
better, either.


i'd say,
do you want to be a runaway,
with hobos between your toes
and dirt under your fingernails;
not knowing where you'll sleep
but knowing it'll be better than loving
a man without a waterlogged smile?
do you want to feel air
in places it's never been,
skinny-dipping in forests no-one
else even knows about;
turn the car off and worry about
wasting petrol and not about where
the next meal's coming from?
do you want to be my scapegoat?
sacrificed by a jew in midnight or
moonlight or
by the side of the railway tracks.
or something.

i'd work out the finer details, but
i have no-one to say it to.

go to sleep, and i'll be gone by the morning,
promise.