lowered expectations

Perfect people passed out
in once empty beds now filled
sounds of cracking bones lay
distant in the field of concrete
the only silence to be ignored
sounds of scraping guitar strings
against calloused fingers in the morning.
theres sand in their mouths,menthol filters,
getting their energy outta cans
rpm slightly faster outta the dark
slash your territory
green limestone & butane sparks
cold clear glass filed with oj
and makers mark
lip is the quick part art in us all
make a point to make no sense
it will help you see through the fog

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