I Was Kind of Tired When I Wrote This

Now you're a little bit of a letdown
Like the shady stars of a polluted night sky
Like the stars that do not exist
when you search and search,
but do exist when you stop looking.
The stars that happen to appear
in the peripheral vision
of your sad pussy eye

It's 3:00 am, it's very late at night
or would you like to consider it
very early in the city morning?
The chilly city morning that chills you with
its lonliness and its individualism
but heats you with its mad sporadic humbums
that roam the greenest intersections
and speak the honest-est truths

Time for a stroll, to assure the depressed,
the high, the weirdos, the fools, the selfish,
that in the end, it's gonna be okay
Running towards nothing, screaming, Moloch! Moloch!
into the eerie silence of the night, trying to minimize
attention? hah! the unconscious begs to differ
it lusts for misery, hate, rape! gyrating, moaning
in an empty fetal position

Under the streetlight, the shadow follows the feet
but by light of car, the feet follow the shadow
running, running -- I bid you farewell, they say.
If you run faster, I run faster, too.
so stop. stop running. inhale! exhale!
but even standing still, your shadow moves faster
than you. it's no wonder, shadows roam
this sad city, like the aforementioned humbum vagabonds.
maybe, maybe They
are the flesh our shadows?

Maybe we are they
or maybe they are us
or maybe, maybe
We are all Each Other