A Cryptic Sense of Doom
Madness in the abyss of delusion
yellow flashes of butts
turn gray with haze of smoke rings
scented mood candles veil the stench
Absurd chatter, blabber, bird gossip
episodic giggles over fanatic demeanor
bodies ubiquitous
oily touches, sweaty chairs, foxy floors
empty whiskey bottles mad as hell
nipped by the crowd
Septic music infuses the gloom
limp cores disregard
slump over each other
like limbs left to rot
As the candles snuff out
a cryptic sense of doom pervades the space
murmur here and there
an arm flinches
As dawn approaches
faint purple light cracks through the blinds
foxy floor littered with butts, empty needles
filthy tee shirts stained with sweat and spew
bodies shift with vacuity
totter, dazed, like the clouds that shroud them
They hoard for a monumental high
one that spans the midnight sky
the planets must wonder
what happens down under
Interesting write. I found it quite intriguing.
You painted a picture in perfect detail of places I once visited.
👍
You just nailed doom to this particular page .. enlightening all those passing through on the off chance and those intentionally visiting while simultaneously de-coding a significant percentage of what is left of mystery .. I’m glad I swung by this way Betty .. Warmly yours, Neville
Such a sad tale. Addictions kill and pull people into the gutter only to die. Your poem encapsulates the experience as though Satan were in the room with them.