Metallic After Midnight


Innocent bystanders.

Cordial and unlucky.

Awaiting with causality toward yesterday.

Upholding many hours past midnight.

An ill lit embankment to instill a traveler’s fright.

 

No one is born unto a shift by the graveyard.

Poetically speaking, the role of walking dead no more different from…

portraying a fly at the bar.

A limp for the narrow figures that wander far.

 

The appearance of black opiates dance like sugar cane in a diluted mind.

Visions of unassuming white vans seem to be…just waiting on a friend.

In the ominous role of third shift…the rules can bend.

 

Metallic taste absolves in the mouth and soul.

Fear is lessened.

A lack of care for the person…not quite whole.

No mention made of ‘being young or growing old.’

 

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