Edmund Savage

Now paranoia dogs my steps in flickering half-human shapes that fall among 
the fallen leafs and slip into the gutter; lying lieing with a drunken voice 
that waits for all it’s lieing to be true.

Now de’ja vu is served for breakfast, every meal feeds me twice, commuters 
on the morning train tell tales of the night before I know that I have heard 
before ‘till friends in town remind me they are of the night I can’t recall.

And the morning paper reads like fiction, the evening rag biography; tales 
of shitting blood and stomach lining, signing cheques foe cigarettes and 
finding drugs wrapped up in notes of perfumed love and foul regrets.

With perfect timing night begins, and someone drags up all the sins of 
unpaid bills and social sins, and gives one hopeless day to pay or leave and 
find some other way.

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