Out-and-out

They say cigarette ashes
will not cover this in its totality
and I told them that they didn’t know
they were not apt to understand something like that
“we’ve been doing a lot of things these past two years,
We don’t know where we are”
However its nice to have cigarette ashes
it means you smoke them up to their filters
and that you left something
That you still leave something
So negligible as a cigarette ash
and dirty sheets
and a bed that seems like a battle field
Arms that cover you up
That pinch you, that tell you that you are something
That you mean something between them
and you could dive in your room
With tired eyes
Red and poisoned and demented
Not knowing
How could it be resembling
To something you do know
I feel something rubbing along
My thighs
The fighter side of his own
I feel sick for typewriters
Cause they wouldn’t be able to type this
and I would get angry
destroy all cigarette ashes
then smoke more cigarettes
to make more ashes
Clawing clothes and wrapping tongues
Would feel like a brief stop in time
and the room stagnates in perpetuates fullness
They still don’t know
but I think they do.
and people sit at their tables and try to eat
Nocturnes scratch the stereo
and boys and girls sleep in beds
Avoiding the opacity of the world
We move in slow motion
We don’t live things, we burn them
Cats sleep in narrow beds
I wonder how they never fall
Thinking about that
Makes me realize that
Nobody ever knows anything
That cats may fall off
That kids may not be able to sleep
That this dirty sheets may be disappear really soon
Cause time flushes that away
So does a button
In a toilet
And a paper
With a rubber
And two hands.
By now I have cigarette ashes
And an hard member
Rubbing
Doesn’t matter much more
It’s a room
A side table
Two heads that will sleep
Trying not to beat
The wilderness of the world