Middle of the back
Middle of the road
Middle of this clustered convulsion
My lips are chapped from too much hot sauce
Middle of the sandwich
Eyes tired from too much beer
My desire is still too exhausted from too much nothing
Middle of the soul
There is no lack of love
There is just none of what I want and no way for me to find it
Tonight I will go to sleep dreaming as always of the
destinations and the women I wish I had to comfort me
Middle of the bed
Waking still in the same place same rotting teeth
trying to forget, as I always do
why someone who tries so hard to be so good, do such good
always ends up being so alone
Middle of the life
Middle of the inspired
Middle of the road
af
(written with pen on paper)
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