insomniac*

he said he prefers the vampires to werewolves and some words came down on my mind

whilst i was playing the glassful in my hands

and the polish was still fresh and bloody juicy on my nails..

it was Charles Bukowski

and his poem Alone With Everybody 

the flesh covers the bone

and they a mind

in there and

sometimes a soul

and the women break

vases against the walls

and the men drink too

much

and nobody finds the

one

but keep

looking

crawling in and out

of beds.

flesh covers

the bone and the

flesh searches

for more than flesh.

there's not chance

at all:

we are all trapped

by a singular

fate.

nobody ever finds

the one.

the city dumps fill

the junkyards fill

the madhouses fill

the hospitals fill

the graveyards fill

nothing else

fills.

self-taken photo*