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Coffeehouse I burn my tongue intentionally so I don't have to speak turning my eyes toward the remnants of society trying not to blink I stand alone and listen to the weekly news so much more important than what's heard on TV our friend died last night heroin - first time a modified hearse drives by a boy sits and sings about drugs and alcohol while strumming his guitar a dreadlocked man pushes his homemade disco lemonade incense the type mother would say not to trust dancing with a man who lives across the street men circle trying to evoke a smile by saying I am beautiful but my smiles are easy they don't need that much effort inside a friendly game of chess ensues upon the pool table everyone is here: musicians, homeless, military, comedians, students, computer programmers, poets, and businessmen my eyes dart desperately searching for someone like me everyone is like me still there is no one to talk to |
Additional Notes:
This is about a place I go to every week for open mics. It's a very stream of consciousness poem, I apologize for the lack of punctuation in advance. :)
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