sometimes

we live in midnight institutions,

complete with limited resurrections,

searching for bedtime heroes

and untraveled imperfections,

among lost and forgotten erections;

they never knew,

just how deep the cut really was,

they never knew,

just what was taken,

on that day so long ago;

how could they?

early morning memories,

fill these empty corridors with time,

reaching out for just one more,

in this never ending reality,

taking hold of the mindless insurrections,

thrust upon this bodiless soul

with decided impropriety,

full of tight lipped incognito bullshit,

drowning in pools of molten metal mania;

sometimes it must be this way,

sometimes this is all there is,

sometimes we all go down;

sometimes it’s all right.

.

.