I don't quite fit into
the scene today.
(would I have ever?)
I'd rather be at home.
A placid sigh,
this is the life. Content.
And when I'm dragged to the club
by some well-meaning friends,
I sit and I brood
as the mini-skirt girls all hang onto guys
who know how to have a good time.
So I lean on the bar
and I order a beer
as I ruminate:
this night will never end.
Drunk sex is the only sex for jaded losers
I like this, having spent many nights from time to time throughout the years looking for something in a bar room that can't be found, very
often wondering what am I doing here, lonelier it that setting than I would be at home alone. I too have been dragged at times, so as not to seem anti-social into this plastic world of phony exchanges that
only work if you are hammered. Don't get me wrong, I think the neighborhood tavern has in the past and still does serve a purpose
in uniting the community on some level....your poem, however is not
describing that scenario.....I like the honesty in this one.......
often wondering what am I doing here, lonelier it that setting than I would be at home alone. I too have been dragged at times, so as not to seem anti-social into this plastic world of phony exchanges that
only work if you are hammered. Don't get me wrong, I think the neighborhood tavern has in the past and still does serve a purpose
in uniting the community on some level....your poem, however is not
describing that scenario.....I like the honesty in this one.......
the death of empathy is the birth of barbarism
- Axanderdeath
- Posts: 954
- Joined: December 20th, 2004, 9:24 pm
- Location: montreal or somewhere in canada or the world
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