A coffee house saturated by
minstrel smokers,
The steady turning of
clock hands on
cream colored walls,
Blatant pessimism
peruses cluttered pages
of contemporary
books,
Like a museum of
eclectic faces,
Pasted to minimum
wage jobs,
In & out,
Doors continue to
usher in more
empty aspirations
of fleeting
greatness,
The meager ideas
enslaved by
ordinary daily
ritual,
I sit there,
Enclosed by them,
Surrounded by them,
Drowning in their
pitiful existence,
They go home,
praying for virtual
companionship from
e-mails that never
arrive,
Kindling cigarettes
with zippo lighters,
And cracking abraded
knuckles,
before they begin
pecking away at
their computers,
Writing about their
ordinary days,
A perpetual cycle
of monotony.
She (I'm assuming they're female due to subject matter in other things in *her* portfolio) only started yesyerday, but most of her stuff rocks!
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