1 Cent For 15 Minutes

I want to kill my television.

Compelled by the calamity
of the fame of the day,
these mongers for a penny–
their paper-mache skin begins to shudder.
No swagger is big enough
for the shit that spews out from
the mouths of these sloths.

Like cockroaches
in smoke choked closets
peeking into the light,
they scatter underneath cloaks of stupidity.
Spineless acts only to gain 15 minutes.
Not even the drunken bums,
or the whores
walking the alley outside my window,
panhandle for that much.

Nearing the End

Fighting the night time sorrows
as we live day to day
in a house made of straw.

Thoughts begin to vaporize
the air I breathe,
weighing me down into the ground.
with hollow spectacles to grasp
a lost life.

Birds fly in the night time skies,
hovering like crows near death.
Doing nothing but staring at the
city burn around us.
Crumbling to the ground,
and draining into the gutter.

All I can do is wait till the end.