You Drooled While You Were Asleep

It's time you left,
But you have to stay and here my next faulty reason why,
Please I want to make this ancient,
Make this concrete and here.

What's worse is you know,
You know I was one damn day too late,
But we can't do anything about it now,
I'm not so jealous as to say you can.

But if I had woken you up on that bus,
If I had told you the truth,
That we are all chasing a heaven,
That only a few were meant to find.

Hindsight will start to hurt your neck,
I should know I see doctors,
So I let you rest on that window and I'm watching you leave now,
Your bare feet glide away on the grass.

I wish I was in an orchestra,
To direct one giant flowing sound,
Expressing the slightest whim of everyone involved,
Breaking and forming the void.

Wishes for fishes I pick up a violin,
Personality with a bow,
I may have just been playing for you then and still am,
But now I sing for the collection of dreamers that remain.



Satan makes his appearance as he comes down the stairs. I catch him out of the corner of my eye, and as always he's looking at me. He glides smoothly past everyone, not even brushing shoulders, until he's right beside me.

"Sup S-man." I don't actually believe that he's the real spitfire Satan, but he never speaks, so I have to fill in the blanks of our conversation. And he fits the bill pretty close. So far he's never disagreed. "That's fantastic. And the wife?" Again the appropriate pause as I mentally answer my own question. "Sorry to hear that, but I bet she'll be on the other side of it by next week." Satan's hand appears in front of my eyes. It catches me off guard. He's usually more subtle than this. A passage is written in perfect script on his hand:

Welcome to the City,
We hope you enjoy the stay,
Light up and take the next shot,
What have you got to lose down here?
We take souls like coats upstairs,
And you know how forgetful man can be,
It's a different world down here,
But most certainly not unique.
Do you even have eyes anymore?
Can't you see that you surround yourself with the dead?
Then I will take it upon myself,
To purge your demons with the fires of hell itself.

"Again, way too dramatic." I've heard the speech before. He shakes his hand still in front of me. I look at him almost with pity. "There are no demons. There are no souls. And I didn't even come in with a jacket." Now he's returning my pity face. Sighing, I return to the glass in front of me. Satan's hand is still blocking it, and I notice that the ink is running. The red ink. I finish my glass as I make the connection. "Aw, I know things are tough man, but that's no reason to cut yourself. Come on, let's get you some eyeshadow to go along with that when it scars." His face resumes its initial lack of emotion as he heads back for the stairs. I close my eyes and listen to the saxophone fill the silence.


A minute later and he's gone. I quickly get another drink, not because he frightens me or anything, just because it's still early and he won't come again tonight. I've been seeing Satan for about a week now, always in a new context, and always when I'm alone. As my head starts to buzz, the jazz really picks up. I should be worrying about Harriet. I should be wondering where Dan is. Then again, I should do my taxes but that's not likely to happen either. Mostly I should be thinking of what the hell happened with Megan, but I made a personal vow not to fuck with that anymore. Instead, all I'm doing is asking Frank for a third and following the bass line. He obliges and i lean back in my seat. Across the room I see a flame pop up. A stunning blonde brings the lighter to the end of her cigarette, draws, and then lets out a set of rings from the most erotic lips I've ever seen down here. These are the "dead" I "surround" myself with. Prostitutes, drug addicts, brawlers, basically all forms of society. And then there's little old me. I'm not into any of that, yet anyone would swear I was. Actually, I just like the drinks and the saxophone. Drinks for adventure, saxophones for satisfying sex. The two things modern man lives for and never finds. I'm Metropolis Bluez, and my parents both died without giving any reason for that. The jazz band finishes up and takes a break, and I take the cue to leave. I make it through the permanent cloud of smoke to the steps, grab my jacket at the top, and hurry outside. I know I told Satan I didn't have one, but I don't think he knew any better.

**feel free to comment and let me know if anyone is even reading this**



Ok, so this is the site I made to post all of my creative writings that I find fit for the public, however horrendous they may be in actuality. I'm also working on a new idea, where I'll have random stories that will eventually link up, all taking place in The City and a frequent number with a character name of Metropolis Bluez (hey, that's my user name!). So hopefully this will kickstart me writing down my ideas again instead of randomly blurting them out before I lose consciousness in bed at night. Hopefully. Stay tuned for the first writing probably by the end of the week.