loud in the city

it's so loud in the city, especially at night. the men outside drunkenly screaming, the bed next door rhythmically squeaking. the club down the street blaring music. they never turn down their amps. i'm not unlike them. all the traffic, the sirens, the people talking with their imaginary friends.

i take my sweets and wash it down with courage just so i can exist beside you. i love my paycheck, and i spend it on friday nights. i'm not unlike them. pass me at the corner store, all clad in rockefeller like you always are. i hate the way you look and i hate the way you look at me. we're not unlike them. i'm telling you again. we weren't meant to be designated drivers.

they don't talk about their troubles, that's where we differ. it sometimes seems i won't shut up. and there you go, sniping cigs. you're not unlike them, either. there's an unrelenting sorrow that lingers over us, but the noise drowns it out. when i go out, i need something to hold. i'm really not unlike them. these steps have been taken, and i'm just making the prints deeper.