Venom for the Anima

A cold rain falls in gangland in the winter.
The poor stand at the bus stop feeling drained.
And every drop of blood they’ve sold for money
Are ones for which at least they’ve gotten paid.

The low points is your life keep dropping further,
And one more night’s of drug’s ill-gotten haze
Eats in on your bones
On those coked-down nights alone,
Washed up, burnt and hurting raw for days.

And torrents fall on skid row in the summer.
Bloodstains on the sidewalk call your name
Life’s few simple pleasures
Run like lovers who felt caged,
Fleeing chains of desperation rage.

Some raise hollow pity to an art form.
Van Gogh pathos vermin crawling in their pious brains.
Well-timed tears fought back to be so publicly displayed.
Suicide on center stage each evening,
Matinees on weekends, folks don’t wait.

And dead leaves fall in graveyards in the autumn.
Thought tornadoes tearing at the graves.
And safe mirages glisten,
Whisper-shouting that “you’re saved”
Till you look into the mirror and they fade.

So bow low to your all too gracious public,
Till the spotlight harsh illuminates your fate
In all it’s foul grotesqueness
Leeching lifeblood from their veins.
Till you’re run off naked
Cowering and quaking in your shame.
Round thirty in your oh so loathsome game.

And sunshine spits on new leaves in the springtime.
Laughing couples pass you on their way
With venom-vomit rising in your gullet,
You somehow find the insolence to blame!