a full moon and a self-fulfilling prophecy

its not often i see the view from frances' capital window in broad daylight

not-so-sterile dorms are for timeouts during late night chaos missions

ive been in the city for two months now and still feel like i'm staring through barred windows, searching for something to yearn for

frances speaks lines of genius across the stained carpet while i blow smoke out their window

i've found my beat generation and my new york city but every other night i find myself watching the lights across the harbour

life remains january 30th after january 30th

fermenting in my rage towards the fact that a degree i couldnt give less flying fucks about is the only excuse to escape a downtrodden ghost town

ive discovered that existence is simply endless holding out

not sure what's worth waiting for but surely waiting for something

i'll forever squint at the asbestos-ridden flats across the highway from the capital dorms