secret motel

Muddy red skies over harbor prostitutes and the ruined motel. The pier is rotting. And so is your heart. Cancer skates the cartoon diners. Shouting the names of loved ones in crowded terminals--receiving no response and realizing how hopelessly alone you are in this world. The blink of an eye sometimes affords one the sunny flash of a world that is forever gone. Look at these motherfuckers you elected: Smiling and lying, enriching themselves while digging you and your family a deeper grave. There are no journalists. Only partisan liars. Who has time to tell the truth when there is an agenda to push? Blue cities commit suicide. The coroner will say they died from natural causes. So progressive, man.