Culture. It seems an entity I lack. Though I guess that’s because I’m part of one. These words are inked to time my alibi For my desperate lust of inebriation… I hear gun shots in the distance. It’s sad to think that thousands of children Grow up fearing the constant roar of gunfire. Though I guess it would become routine As the undying hum of cars passing by here- Sounding out like crashing waves at a beach. Ambience. The noises we tune out unconsciously But compose a large part of our location and Atmosphere. The sky darkens. Turning grey with torrential threats. Though here, the mood swings last A few blinks of an eye Then pass like it never happened. I hate being so alone. So isolated. So desperate for company.
