A Tale As Old As Fucking

I’ve brought my own table    
as a pariah of deception and false light  
I should shoulder my burdens alone  
scraping worn out shoes on  
melting asphalt    
because there’s nothing more pathetic than a    
down-bad-wannabe-troubadour    
selling stolen kisses and broken promises  
   
some nights the walls creep toward me
solemn crumbling gyprock bemoaning their lot  
to hold it all up    
while the bed is an iced-tundra of loneliness    
so I wake before the dawn  
saddle my burdens in a beat up truck  
watch particles of dust cause chaos in  
the high-beams as I careen uncaring down    
another long road ignoring the signs that  
say    
go back    
not here    
trespassers will be shot  
   
a motel light bekons from the roadside as a  
last ray of hope that tastes like heroin    
drawn from the corpse of a junkie,
 
to the lost and broken it’ll never be salvation  
but at least it feels familiar  
to those that know where hatred hides  
   
I investigate your eyes    
know the expression of sullen sadness    
of someone looking for an idea of home  
that plays from the cold lies of a Hollywood screen  
It feels like a crime that the weapons I carry  
take you to cliffs of agony and ecstasy    
and make you want to dive in head first    
and see    
see  
if it’s worth more than all the tears shed  
waiting to be saved by the nothing    
that pries nightmares from children’s minds