Come
wrapped in colors
painted with scars
a degenerate story
a name they’re afraid to pronounce
and a laugh too deep to arouse suspicion
Sit with us
the children of cheap labor
on a barstool perch
eyes on the door
lush music for all its glory
and hands better suited for jagged stones
Cheers!
to your leather skin
a slice of lime
a switchblade that’s found a home
in the stomach of the asshole
too drunk to tie his shoes
You’re free to come and go
With those awful labor pains
and a collection of gold teeth
that would make your mother proud
in the pocket of the only pair of jeans
you didn’t buy for yourself
Wednesday night’s depression
hits like the first cigarette
but the smell of your voice
keeps the room
spinning
on a barstool perch