Untimely #10 - Why! A Quit, Of Sorts.

Washed my face in the rivers of empire;

Made my bed from a cardboard crate

Down in the city of quartz.

Pleaded with every agency of temps,

Harangued the centre of jobs;

Brandished my Curriculum Vitae at every turn,

And got nowhere in the city of quartz.

I dined in the soup kitchens of pain!

Ogled the grand patisseries of the French quarter,

And began to quietly starve in the city of quartz.

Attempting to prostitute myself to the children of Caesar,

I was flung into the prison of punishment.

And there sodomised for scraps,

In the bowels of the city of quartz.

Toothless, wretched, my metaphors scabbing over,

I am sold, out right, to an ageing actor:

Tears, joyous and otherwise, are ignored by all in the city of quartz.

I wish I’d never moved here.

My diseases are turning my mind to dung.

I’m decanting my sense into the toilet and becoming a moron.

I’m fitting in to the city of quartz.

I’m in love with my actor,

Though I’m sure he’s cheating on me,

With some new tourist to our city of quartz.

I’m leaving.

I’m going to kill myself while I have the strength.

I can’t take any more of this.

Fuck you, you stupid old city of quartz.