words

well the air smells like sadness
and it can’t get dark fast enough,
the alarm clock keeps pulling at my shirt
and nicotine rings keep knocking
at my front door,
it’s hard to stay hid.

the rum lets itself in while i’m out
and really i can’t turn it away,
so, you know, it kind of lives here
and refuses to pick up after itself,
leaves the lights on
and refuses to help pay the rent.

thats the way it is though,
and i know, you know,
i walk place to place
and day to day
and sundays are the worst,
you know, sunday nights
are covered in fog
to conceal whats around the corner,
you know,
sundays are there to define
the rest of the days.

they keep saying its gonna rain
and i keep seeing lightning
but the ground stays dry
and it’s hot, goddamn it’s hot,
the pavement hisses and steams
and the air wraps around you
like an old coat
and there is no wind, no wind,
someone forgot to tell the wind.

but you know, we walk around,
the rum and i,
and the cigarette lags behind
calling wait up, goddamn,
gotta light em on the stove,
someone forgot to tell the matches.

i’m all out of water
and i’ll be dead
before i drink from the faucet here,
and i’ll be dead
after i drink from the faucet here,
so, you know, it’s just me and the drink
and sugar water and cigarettes and burners,
bad dreams and hot nights,
hot days, cold showers,
here and there, back and forth,
now and then.

the night lumbers on
and the words talk shit from just beyond
and it’s hard to stay hid, you know,
we harbor no solstice here and yet
it’s hard to stay hid, city to city
banking along the edge of the night,
i know you know,
it’s hard to stay hid
when you carry this kind of weight,
it’s hard to stay hid
when you want to be alone, you know,
it’s hard to stay hid
until you want to be found.

-S.C. Martinez