cycles (flip the coin)

by Jason Alan

Under shades of black

Mirrors of smoke and ash

Cracked concrete littered with

Blasting caps

Fire mind, endless hole

Street stench filling the void

Great warriors of lore

Dotting sidewalks

Bottles of cheap whiskey in hand

Brown paper bags

Filled with inspiration

Cars streak by

Disrupting sleep

Erupting dreams

Nowhere to run, to hide

Only a place to die

Scrape the sky

With furious steel

Endless high

Wait a minute coming down

Oh no Oh no

Earth to you earth to me

Re-entering reality

No not again have to sleep

Sleep or die or regain the high

Better living through

Chemical stimulation

Coming around full circle

Ending up in the same place


One step closer to the fire

Keep walking

The other side of the coin

Under eyes of white

Mirrors lined with powder

Cracked pipes

Over controlled fires

Stench filling homes

Great poets

On old couches

Stained with every drug imaginable

Clear plastic bags

Stagger the imagination

People walk by

A restless creep

Bursting at the seems

Nowhere to run or hide

Only a place to die

Hit the floor

Like a sack of potatoes

Endless low

Never able to go up again

Losing sight

No sense of anything

Better living through

Self mutilation

Scars of the train coming through

It goes in a circle

Ends up in the same station

Just one step closer

One step closer to the fire