Little Nowhere

Some times there is a hope in the rot,
Sometimes the roach is just another sign that we’re alive,
The frailty of ruined frames draw power
from ones own insecurities,
Shove it away,
Shove it away,
What makes them live?

Downward glances,
and unstable footing,
they reflect the instability of structure,
the town is lost in their eyes,
Why can’t they see through mine?
They could always just take them.
It’s not a lost cause!
It just can’t be,
as those in the bar proclaim
after being laid off yet again.