Saturday night

This is NOT about me

The thrashy talk show blaring on the television illuminates the dark room,

Curtains half-drawn, rain runs down the windowpane, loneliness will loom,

A feeling of being both warm and cold at the same time is upon me,

The glowing screen hypnotizes and dopes me,

Been out of the spotlight for quite a few years,

Mainly spend the nights in my room, in unexplainable tears,

Now the weekend and the week blur and run together,

Spend the days in the alley, the nights on the leather,

I've got money, hell yeah, I never need to work again,

Never need to lift another pen,

But when I was a desperate and common young thing,

The texts would flood in, the phone always ring,

I've scared away them all by now,

I still don't even know how,

Saturday nights sprawled across the couch of black leather,

In this dark, rainy, depression weather.

 

 

The End

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