the music echoes
throughout the empty
bottom level of
the concrete hive
where dreams wither
on the blackened vine

the gods of random
songs have declared in
their divine petulance
today will be filled
with agression even
as anxiety flares hot
i exist in a sphere of
the burning steam
where my passions dash
themselves against the
invisible labyrinth
constructed of futility
dedicated to the hubris
of the ones who beat
understanding into
the fertile flesh of
ink stained innocence

i turn up the music
ignoring the nettles
stinging across my scalp
trying to lose myself
in happy thoughts that
remain intangibly aloof