dinner gone bad

you will get by

for just a little while

longer,

one more paycheck

closer,

one less day

in the way;

waiting for the axe

to fall

is the greatest torture

of all;

words

are too easy now,

sucking the breath

from those standing

in the way,

they tease and torture,

like some maniacal inquisitor,

taking all that there is

and searching for more;

it is never enough,

there is never any

satisfaction,

exploding like chaos

on the dusty road

lying before the dawn,

spreading over the canvas

like some splattered

dinner desert

gone bad;

lucidity is forgotten,

rationale forgiven,

in moments of haste

that leave no margin,

in the bright new madness

of a world turned sour,

where all that is hidden

shall be revealed

in the light of a

brand new day.

.

.