The world is nothing more than a drunken stupor,
buzzing and hazed.
The dim yellows and browns drench the night
like a sudden storm.
But it was not sudden at all.
It was expected, as it is known.
It is known in the distressed zombies that walk the night's streets,
in search of just one more bite of flesh.
Which admittedly is only a drink, or two, or three...
One drink, or hit, for the changing faces of strangers
(which really are always the same).
Bob Marley and Beatles posters line the walls of those strangers' rooms,
where the frightened enter heavy and worried.
But the frightened leave flying,
no, soaring and happy.
But they are still worried, it is only hidden now.
The yellow haze never gets old,
when all you've known are dark clouds.
These words are my own,
I know what I know and have known.
I can never step down.
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