where they want you.
facing the product.
[remember the days when the outside provided escape?]
find yourself
losing yourself
at a desperate bar,
faded neon
faded minds.
dark, dirty tint to the glass
serves its purpose.
you've lost track of existence,
humanity
time and matter
crawling into a bottle of flavored oblivion,
staring at the flickering screen.
a fly,
trapped.
banging its body against the glass.
buzzing angrily,
knowing there is a life out there
they desire yet cannot obtain.
you are the fly.
your television,
your bottle...
the windows to false escape.
NB @ 2:17 PM
3 Comments:
sounds a lot like las vegas.
there's a little bit of sin in every city, a little bit of sinner in us all.
sinners, the whole lot of us, that is for damn sure.
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