Stingy Brim

Sometimes I feel as if I let my comrades dictate what my personal opinions are on aspects. Sometimes I can only feel that my comrades are the cold dirty streets, the wet Grey street lamps, the tired one story motel with the vagrants guarding its face. How can I feel so alone in a world giftwrapped in apathy. Why must I feel so mundane like a star studded wash up that has been featured in a redhouse film in a one horse town? This night will consume my good nature. This night will smile with cigarette smoke seeping through its sorry teeth, looking down at me with searing hawk eyes. Sharp as a tack and with grit it waits for a rise. But this hard soul has seen too much and been bruised in too many one sided brawls to feel anything anymore. So as he breathes his harsh winds into my face, reeking of cold and nicotine. I will turn my back to him. And continue to trudge onwards down that lonesome, wet asphalt. Yeah, this night is cold. But its all that I will ever know. For in my life, when the love has come and gone. Where the familar face will age and fade. This dence, Blackened over street remains for me to nurse on. And when it is my end, I will be kissed by the night one last time, and that ever consulting avenue will be paved over me like everyone else. Can you hear that dusk rousing saxaphone playing just for me? Goodnight ever embracing night. You have done so much to mold a hardened city slicker. And for that I will forever be in debt to the city lights.