Rainy Day

Foul piercing jagged needles
Leave black and blue markings
On the back alley sharks
Swimming in the rose bushes.

A harmonica plays in the cold city wind,
While rain patters on the cracked concrete.
My wet woolen sweater wreaks of booze,
Uncomfortable on my skin.
A metallic discomfort on the tip of my tongue,
This is a slaughterhouse for the unfortunate young.

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This entry was posted in Pauletry and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Rainy Day

  1. Matt says:

    Wisdom on all accounts, sir Maul.

    “Slaughterhouse for the Unfortunate Young” sounds like the name of a novel you should write.

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