Scornful days

                Five years, stuck on my eyes
                Five years, what a surprise
                Five years, my brain hurts a lot
                Five years, that's all we've got
                David Bowie"Five yrars"

The scornful days. My coffee's bliss.
Our mornings bring some new frustration.
Gray sterile grounds without a kiss;
I've lost my sex. Uncelebration.

Contorted creases of my brain
Forbid divine consideration.
So fucking useless hero am I with my pain
That's stuck in someone else's adoration.

Your cards conceal a winning lot
I don't know whether I can even try
I must, I should, and I ought not
I'll give my shameless finger right to the scared sky

Street smoke will cushion our talk
You want to scream you meant no pain - too late
Forget, remember, change, repent and walk
I bring my own rules at your game's gate

You need my hand - so here's your pistol
You want a game - the winner loses all
You read a novel - I promise a bad ending
No rights or wrongs - your will and freedom mixed

/Morr/