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creature of habit
smoked filled room
stale smell of life
pollutes the air
cueball cracking the
eight like a elephant
stepping on a peanut
same old faces some
with different names
sharing floating thoughts
from a bottle
hard wooden stools
with duct taped leather
seats line the path
to tomorrow
dice dancing across the
bar victory wins a drink
cigarettes sold for a nickel
a piece
a flickering black and
white perched in a corner
guarded by a spider web
tells you a bookie owns
one of your knees
belly up to the bar for
a double and a book of
matches
its a different day of
the same old thing
inner warfare
a silhouette of pain
escapes his eyes
red carpet ride out
of control
been there done that
but back again
how many times will
his record skip
through his scratched
and scarred life
his worst enemy his
mind dragging him
to the deepest trenches
of war his only weapon
turned against him
he fights like a scab
through a picket line
to get to the other
side
only to return
angrily searching
path that will guide
him to vacation
planned in hell
never knowing
of this other
place so deep
that hell
is heaven
in his eyes
he battles on
thoughts of
better times
playing in
mud slides
made by
Tennessee rain
sunday evening
wild goose
chases after nothing
licking
ice-cream cones
with
his cousins
sharing some
quality time
nights
his front yard
was his
father's personal
chat room with
help of a
cb radio
and a jug
of wine
stumbling through
the darkness
the credits roll
on his
pay per view
theater
his mind
giving the
strength to
earn a seat at
the next showing
somewhere down
the line
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