Riding Through Hell on a New Bike

Bold
I have become a cliche
Old thoughts swim to the surface
Every damned time

Hollow
Devoid of anything new
Empty as worn shoes in the corner
Shit on the heels

Fact
Sidewalks ice cream razors
Life outside the void within exists
I can't touch it

Damaged goods, diseased, slick moss-green
Yellowed newspaper clippings, obituaries
Black rotten fruit, blowflies, sweat-stains
Coagulated brown blood, paper-thin skin
Douse that blue flame with gasoline