Sitting in the dim,
Watching pale skin bodies
While drinking dark amber beers,
As the rock beat pounds some similar song.
Trying not to think,
Or feel,
Or even to be,
As the stack of dollars slowly disappears,
They know this isn’t somewhere I belong,
But this a place of not caring.
The barmaid carefully shows cleavage as she brings another
And another, and another;
And she insist I place a dollar in her treasure chest;
I receive an almost complete smile for the effort.
Closing time finds me with less paper
And just as many thoughts
That I wished were washed away,
But weren’t.
I stop at the gas station across the street,
Where you pump your own,
Unknown hookers give me the eye
They seem glazed and lost,
But unappealing,
Except for the oblivion in their eyes.
I drive off searching for some of my own,
A place where nothingness is felt.