Backbeat contempts on the street

I sit alone, music blasting over the obligatory bullshit the news is spewing, the lyrics painting a vivid image of modernism in my proactive mind. The delinquent faces of news anchors who have turned into satirical parodies, inform me that we’ve been fucked over by those we had no trust in from the start, leaving the working class heroes and deadbeats to the skullduggery of the pernickety bastards. Its moments like these that I realise this isn’t what life’s about, simply being lost waiting to be found. Life is about the maddening sound of the firecracker, the tiptoe of laughs amidst rain that surmounts to a thousand years tears, joking about the bastards that we live below, humiliating one another in the name of a meaningless word whilst downing something we really shouldn’t be. Simultaneously giving our heart and soul to the conversation that will be over in the morning and then once again be back to loneliness and the news to drown the laughable sorrow, hoping that tonight we’ll once again be screaming the dream that we couldn’t dream up the night before.