Another cigarette
Another day
His silence so grave
I could hear the crisp burning
Of the folded paper in his joint
Of my heart on the unforgiving streets
Nothing comes out of
This foolish try
Except for knowing it yet again
How paradoxical, pertinent
It was to try and get denied
Another love of the same genre
Same people, different times
I call it courage in flattery
It was but a cry of unmet needs
Soaked in Rakija for about an hour
Longer than that, could have killed it
Or flushed it down the toilet
No one can ever be a slave too long
To the mastery of loneliness
We end up in a different dimension
Surrendering to the Gods of shame
In pursuit of one little spark
That we like to call, love.
-Al