that place down that lane in a long line of forgotten thoughts

There's a place down Memory Lane
that lies in wait for quiet moments and heavy eyelids that flutter
with exhaustion and a sick nostalgia  
for the melancholy romance of broken days  
 
I remember those loveless streets
an endless loop of cracked pavement and blood stains
where fucks where exchanged for meaningless sentiments
or a bottle of wine was all one needed to stay warm  
for a night  
 
Unmarked cop cars leaned against graffitied walls
as boys road past on bicycles pieced together from the remnants
of stolen good as though no one would notice the dull sheen  
of shifty eyes and hands shaking under the paranoia  
of too much weed  
 
Even now I know the roads better than the backs of my own hands
staring at the cigarette burn of drunkenness now faded into the sun kissed skin  
while remembering 1am wanderings and skittish headlights
my mind hazed and my cunt ablaze with a night not spent alone
though my temporary bed curled around me in solitary comfort
as I passed out fully clothed beneath rank and musty blankets  
 
There's a place down Memory Lane
where everyone is a prostitute or a junkie
and no one misses you too much when you're gone  
though I'll never forget the surprise in his eyes  
on the day I came back and gazed at him  
over the top of a homemade bong
 
© Indie Adams 2012