Poem 1

514 Monroe

Sleepy eyelids open,
Rose-colored glasses recede.
All that’s heard is white noise
From a nearby television set, its
Short-lived limelight now faded to neglect.
Slatted daylight greets the stench
Of stale beer and cigarettes
That permeates the air. This air
Is the by-product
Of good times forgotten.
The corners of our dried lips
Are crusted with remorse, but
We still suck in this atmosphere
Visibly thick with teenage pollution.
Damp hardwood and damp spirits
Play souvenir to our memories,
Each intoxicated account
Differing
In detail
And details.
We are surrounded by dirtied, crumpled clothing;
Remnants of egos won and lost.
Demons swarm our minds
As we realize
Our mouths taste of stomach acid,
Our skin reeks
Of stale beer and cigarettes.
Our days are stale and fruitless,
Our nights
Recuperate us.