Morning cigarette burns like yesterday’s mistakes.
Coffee, black as my mood, assaults the emptiness.
The city outside throbs with a headache’s rhythm.
Another day, another dollar, they said.
Feels more like another day, another inch of dust.
Words spill like cheap ganja, raw and honest.
Bruised truths about love and its scars.
The beauty in the broken, the fight in the fallen.
Maybe there’s a flicker of hope in the pix.
A shared laugh between strangers in the gutter.
A moment of connection in the neon blur.