Shades gather in flickering light,
Vampires on dance floors and stools,
Desperation, perspiration, gyrate throughout the night,
Lonely specters take turns being fools,

Logon, sign-in, wear someone else’s smile,
Claim he makes your heart stand still,
Mold him, fold him, for a little while,
At least until you’ve had your fill,

Claim him, blame him, and make up alibis,
Then go find those shades that gather in the night,
As the ticker click click clicks the count of all your lies,
And when caught, hope he chooses not to fight,

The abysmal seas of your disease, fathomless deep.
The depths of cowardice, thrice as much,
And revisionist history, a stinking heap.
One could say you have the Midas touch,

And when he turns on you and makes you plead,
The gyrating specters offer no comfort, doing as ever they please,
And he knows no remorse to your cowering burps—he simply takes no heed,
For too many times, he knows too well, you’re on your goddamned knees!

2 snaps!

Imago said:

I like this line about poodleman vs orger photoshops.