God's Waiting Room

Enter night. The most cockless apparition you’ll ever see is staring back at you in a mirror, dumbfounded. But that aint tonight darling. It’s the script you rehearse for, the perpetual romcom of tomorrow that spells the ultimate disconnect, the conditionless defeat. The night ensuing, wake up drole, muster will and life all day to push on and into a singular space you've carved out for yourself through sweat and tears accumulated over a full week of yessmiss nosurr, entering the room eyes wide spiritually cooked up to find it populated by the same strangers you three years ago condemned as non-grata, the vile on autopilot fuelled by sleeping pills and passive aggressive spousal comments on the state of labor division askew. Now you’re begging them for favors, pleading for an asswarm seat. It's the end, guy. A hole. Unwanted is the most male feeling there is, and even if you manage to wobble through the cess, companioned up with a proper stallion, leaning at an angle on a comfortable trott, he’s gonna leave you. Say his adieu cus’ there’s a tomorrow sun set ablaze on his horizon. But you’re not there yet. All fucking week it’s deadline into pickup into stirup, boss fed, taxman fed, kids craving, wife raving. The tuneofyourchosenidol breathing down neck, asking for more. And all there is that's yours, truly yours in that moment, not up for sale or barter, is the pretense of going home, the X hour when nobody knows where you are, and nobody cares. When drinks flow a plenty, oozing the contagious rot of whadedvavdahsvig iwantnot. Those drinks are sacred. They're holy. God can suck one dick, of two, and must soon choose wisely or leave it to fate, cus his branded child is slipping. Losing its will to wage war. We’ve been here for a while, all yee chosen, waiting for the sign monumental to carry us over the edge into the velvet clad rooms, of tits and ass, petrol and gas. Today is not your day, today never was. You’re scared like a child. Quivering in anticipation, and all you can do to keep faith is the one step two step routine, ya dumb cubt. They're never gonna care, they're never gonna want, you. Gospel of the unwant. But I love you, flaws and all. As long as you talk to me, I will love you forever. Say the words, guy. Spill the bean.