*And somehow midnight construction reminds me of Sunnydale. Floodlights making the evening bright as day; the industriousness of such slovenly creatures blinding those of us who thrive in darkness.*

*All I ever wanted was what anyone else craved; a gentle hand, a full cup, an abiding lover to howl the moon's beauty with me.*

Ah we're drinking and we're dancing;
and the band is really happening,
and the Johnny Walker wisdom running high.
And my very sweet companion
she's the Angel of Compassion;
she's rubbing half the world against her thigh.
And every drinker every dancer
lifts a happy face to thank her,
the fiddler fiddles something so sublime.
All the women tear their blouses off,
and the men they dance on the polka-dots,
and it's partner found, it's partner lost,
and it's hell to pay when the fiddler stops;
it's closing time.

*I loved that madhouse, the blood and dancing and longing glances. You never saw them; too caught up in your madness you left me fallow when I was ready, open and wanting you to make me over into something new and pretty and now the chance is gone and I'm alone. Alone, inching forward on this fucking highway, listening to a raven's chorus of irritated car horns and trying not to cry at the acrid stench of asphalt and tar. And it's all your fault, you and not anyone else, for not loving me when I gave you all I had, more than everything I borrowed from others to give you more but you didn't care.*

Ah we're lonely, we're romantic,
and the cider's laced with acid,
and the Holy Spirit's crying, "Where's the beef?"
And the moon is swimming naked
and the summer night is fragrant,
with a mighty expectation of relief.
So we struggle and we stagger
down the snakes and up the ladder
to the tower where the blessed hours chime.
And I swear it happened just like this:
a sigh, a cry, a hungry kiss;
the Gates of Love they budged an inch.
I can't say much has happened since
but closing time.

*Now me and my eternal companions, Tweedle demon and Tweedle soul, we're striking out on a lost(found) highway running scared and sad, because you don't love us, can't love all three of us the demon the soul and the man because that would take effort, something you don't expend in my direction. No, the three of us, we're not worth your time.*

I loved you for your beauty,
but that doesn't make a fool of me:
you were in it for your beauty too.
And I loved you for your body,
there's a voice that sounds like God to me
declaring that your body's really you.
And I loved you when our love was blessed,
and I love you now there's nothing left
but sorrow and a sense of overtime.
And I missed you since the place got wrecked
and I just don't care what happens next.
Looks like freedom but it feels like death;
it's something in between, I guess.
It's closing time.

*You claimed me before I knew what it meant to be wanted; you wrote your name on my heart and my cock in both my blood and yours. You swore you'd know me forever, but you lied. I'm here alone, sitting in the middle of some godforsaken nowhere, lucid for the first time in weeks, smelling the putrid odor of stale piss on the pavement, glad that I'm not human because they're living things and the efflux of eliminatory substances makes me sick. You, you're cozy at home, secure in that void you call your mind, sure of yourself and your place and all that you call to yourself as your own. And I have a cooler of stale goat's blood, since that was all the butcher had left in the last town and he wasn't asking questions and I wasn't volunteering answers. I hate you, almost as much as I love you.*

Yeah we're drinking and we're dancing,
but there's nothing really happening,
and the place is dead as Heaven on a Saturday night.
And my very close companion
gets me fumbling gets me laughing;
she's a hundred but she's wearing
something tight.
And I lift my glass to the Awful Truth,
which you can't reveal to the Ears of Youth,
except to say it isn't worth a dime.
And the whole damn place goes crazy twice;
and it's once for the devil and once for Christ.
But the Boss don't like these dizzy heights,
we're busted in the blinding lights
busted in the blinding lights
of closing time.

*Pathetic it may be, but if I had a phone right now I'd call you just to hear your condescension and loathing, just to hear you spit my name as you curl up with whoever's keeping you distracted. Yeah, I'm a worthless git, wanting to smell the roses before they wilt, dip them in blood and lay them on your neck, just for the contrast. I'd carve my heart out and place it on your tongue if I thought you'd love me.*

*But it's not enough, is it?*