There's a pill for that

Tables don't have manners.
This is mine.
That, is yours.

Why are they doing that over there?
What are they doing?
Over there.

What will you do?
You are alone.
Crushed by insecurity.
Poisoned resolve.
Will is unlawful.

It's a fine line, that separates disparity and complacency.

Selfish is the way to be.
Are you willing to give all of yourself to the selfish?
They want a discount.

They have kids.
Yours can wait.

How many years?
How many years does it take to break a man?
They have all the answers they need. Why do you ask?
Nothing, of course. Thank you sir.
Carry on.

Love is grand.
Or more.

A child's innocence met by mechanical means.
Masked faces of strangers.
And needles.

There is no place for a twinkle in your eye.

Indifference is plentiful here.
Have you traveled?
It doesn't have to be like this.

Why did they do that over there?
Who cares.

You scream, alone, in the mirror.
As you habitually inspect your prison.
This is the only place you can do it, you know?
You can't tell him to fuck off, it's not polite.
There's a pill for that.

And that.

And that.