salem

it's stale in here
and all i can smell is feet
that feeling where your stomache
bends inside itself
i'm tip-toeing around half empties
whiskey, gin, light beer
everything's cheap and broken
the sun refuses to rise
Hunter S. Thompson
strewn around the bedside
and my mind is sleeping
my eyes can't close
that feeling where your stomache
bends inside itself
soon we'll be driving