The 8 Ball Calls
Soaked with sweat...
Ears ringing, like a million bugs flying...
The Dream an Old one; of Lines of white, razor blades and Shame.
Points, Darts, and rubber bands.
Deception of demons wearing grins.
Illusion of coke whores frying.
Quit, I can? I am... I have...
Fancies of conceit.
Snared by the ambush of mistakes. All mine.
Face flushed from hot tears.
My nightly rain...
The beast I still try to tame.
Mad at the weakness within...
Alone this war must be fought...
Such is my pain.
Bedroom walls closing in...
Older, and aged, the curse of time.
Trapped by the memories of sins...
Lonely house laughs...
Crowds I will seek.
Noise to drowned out this din..
The hunger haunts.
Maybe a woman for my bed..?
As if sex could heal...
The road, winding to nothing but more of Caesars' dream...
Gears not remembered; thoughts flowing like a stream...
A smoke filled room.
The Old place, the wrong place.
Rode out of habit, too...
Flashing neon lights.
Friends and foes, bikers all...
Still all the same.
Mary Jane floats.
Eyes sting from cancer sticks a fire...
Country Music, Plays.
Tears and Beers flow.
Strong men, dressed in black.
Laughter and testosterone.
Billiards played; money on the table.
My two bits in place.
Available woman, all looking for a taste.
Each somebody's little girl, had a few.
All remember, yet denies, with silence and a nod.
In the corner, the monkey awaits;
for a C-note his place back on my back he will gladly take.
With A smile, I did pass.
Hateful feet drag.
Soul begs for the Enlightenment that comes from paranoia.
Cravings corrupt.
Jim Beam ordered, self pity drank...
Whiskey as smooth as the lies I tell myself...
The echoes of past days ring in my mind as Stevie Ray sings...
Those days with her, here.
Chased with a beer...
The desires deepen.
The waitress says hi, through sniffles; a drop of blood on her nose.
Strangers and Riders know of my fight; few do what is right...
Lines offered.
Dollars rolled.
No! No! NO!
My quarters up... Hard to shoot with hands that shake...
Lived so many years as if this is where I belong... I was wrong.
Walking into the night, alone, cold,
Balls on the table sits,
empty with no where to go...
But, Clean! Clean Damn It, Clean...!
Button pushed, Keats awakens, Vulcan drums, and my Heart eases...
Texas roads of freedom, await;
with just a clutch release...
Back to dream. With this battle won... And The war still to fight...
Back to a lonely house, but, liking me again...
Still...
The longing lingers...
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