too much inner dialogue of ill hot thoughts
to get my
burnt hiding mind round tomorrows real future
too much
so
i
ran
from
the spot light of accidental university
to the retail rut of shift work mall
killing me every dawn over greasy
spoon breakfast
where time crushed its top hat
standing on
its subjective head
too much
too much - i poured neat cheap rum in bitter black coffee
and smoked a smokeless hash pipe
on the two trains home
after found whisky and babbling high existentialism
in
that
mad
guys
van
1988 ford escort by scott barrett
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