the degenerate I call myself

By beamish

I love the dark places I've been.  The bars, the concert halls, the back alleys and the brothels. I like the smoke and the smell of gin. The drunken stares and the tears of grown men. The fights and the blood that runs at the end of a knife. It's these places that living really begins to find its life.  Not in the shopping halls of suburban malls or in churches of pure white hypocrisy. I belong with the real people where the swill flows and lies bigger than giants are told.  Where the whiskey and the whores are both on the sketchy side. But where neither would be refused a good ride. This is my home. Far from the norm of life's expectations. In fact, it's where I come for a vacation from the sterile street and the condemnation of a degenerate I call me.

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Copyright 2016 beamish
Published on Saturday, March 5, 2016.     Filed under: "Poetry"
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Comments on "the degenerate I call myself"

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  • Broken doll On Sunday, March 6, 2016, Broken doll (15)By person wrote:

    Raw, yet familiar. Well said.

  • beamish On Friday, May 20, 2016, beamish (137)By person wrote:

    Thank you

  • FadedBlues On Saturday, March 5, 2016, FadedBlues (2172)By person wrote:

    ...been there, took the same ride. a lot of miles ago. nice...

  • beamish On Friday, May 20, 2016, beamish (137)By person wrote:

    A ride I would take over and over again. Thank you

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