Stale Smoke from Defeater by Defeater

Ashed air lingering in the dim lit corners where the sun is peaking in a window blacked out, cracking. Day in, day out, he turns the floor and hard luck. Sun up, sun down, he pushes hurt and poor souls. Shuffle in through the door, kicked; always on their last drink. Suffer on their last leg, breaking. Day in, day out. The numbers run. Sun up, sun down. He pushes on. “Poor souls left along the beach haunt and stay with me. I lose sleep to keep the dreams from coming and stave off the pain that comes with their names. I drink deep to keep my heart from aching.” Too much, too young. Ashed air, breathe deep with the stale smoke trailing off the lit end, dragging cigarette glow burning. Shuffles through to sway a bad break coming off a cold streak, cut deck and a card cheat grinning. “How are you going to see the ending coming with your head turned around, stuck and bleeding out? How are you going to keep those lies from coming? Your teeth line the ground, tongue cut from your mouth, stuck and bleeding out. Aching poor souls buried off the beach haunt and stay with me. Their debts left in vain, a laundry list of names. I drink deep to keep my head from spinning.”

• Rock
• Boston