NEON NEON

if love is a verb,

then what am i doing?

pissing away yesterday's excess

when i should be making the most of it/

sitting on the fence,

bent double,

in trouble again

lending a hand with barely posable thumbs/

disposable income,

disposable lighters,

a whole generation of disposable items

passing the time

just to find out we've wasted it

wasted again

(as per usual)

choosing to do this

because it's easier than being proactive/

actively avoiding the responsibility they gave us,

saying we're too young

when we're old enough

to make the wise choice

to shove those white lies up our collective nose,

hoping we'll find something better to do

before we're in too deep/

yellow submarines

in our own sea of chemicals,

smelling the coffee long after we stop waking up/

up is down,

down is up,

and i am drunk/

same old story

death, glory and beans on toast/

knowing that milk with knives in

couldn't revive us now/

head in the clouds

of smoke that fills the room/

losing my edge like i lost this bet with sobriety:

why can't I be you?

and

why can't i choose life

over this high society i find myself in?

spinning faces and such high falls from grace

that i'm scared we've broken a leg/

well,

good luck and fuck forever is all you said

(i'll bear that in mind next time i'm trying to find you

in the neon night time places we habituate these days)

paper planes pass us by,

over our heads

like the death of our salesman friends

from the endless lines they've become accustomed to/

losing their minds like it's going out of fashion

trash talk their only language/

barely managing to string a sentence together
before we pass out

arse over tit

as we try to outsmart the things we've become/

and the drinks we spilt to get there

not caring is our ambition,

missing in action as the undeniable facts are laid bare/

effortlessly falling up the stairs to my bed

rightly thinking that these neon nights

were dead before we started/

half-hearted conversations pale into insignificance

among the stimulants

that have become an imminent part of the way we function/

drunk and disorderly is what they call us

but trust me,

the problem's more complex than that/

looking back at the men we were

before the sex,

drugs

and sausage rolls/

rolling over backwards

to scratch your back

while you stab me in mine/

as you find

that our vices

have put a price on our heads/

and empty beds

are no compensation

for the way we paved

for all the other

good vibrations

of these
neon
night time
places