A Narcotic Hit of Mercy

Her faces gives me a dream, a narcotic hit of mercy,
as the train shambles and shakes like an undead corpse.
Undead corpse, unsteady on it’s feet, usnure of what is
happening. Me, the train, the undead, just stagger on.
 The billboard is big and in bright colors, her face subtle
and mysterious, like the teasing out of the corner of your
eye, smirk of an angel, giving a hit for free, so you chase
her into the vaulted snowy plains of heaven, giving her your soul.
 The model, Cara, is harsh and entrancing, full of malice and lust,
as her eyes suck me into her starlit orbit, the outlier of her psychic magic.
I give her devotion and lust and fascintion, for that narcotic hit of mercy,
to feel light and horny and mad, like when I was a young man.
 Heading home from a dirty, ugly city, and the game of pretend that is
the world of work, I silently worship her as we pass her billboard,
as she smokes the gossamer incense through my eyes, keeping herself
powerful and strong and beloved and on top of this shitty little world.
 As long as I get my hit, she can take everything……………….
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