Conversations Outside the Hawthorne Hotel
Brayden Kimbrough
I turned to you, intent on asking
“When will we know perfect truth?”
You looked at me
With purple eyes radiating Dayglo
Scintillating stains on your fingernails
And in your hushed voice told me
“We’ve already got it…”
The voluptuous lust of the lullaby coma
Intent on fellating the dangerous few
Stardust of Saturn piling on in my headspace
Kindred complacency I got from you
I turned to myself, with knives as my fingers
Almost poised to penetrate the radius of information
And for a handful of seconds,
My blood felt like cream rising to the surface
Oh, what a wonderful feeling
Could you ever imagine?
The stench of Orion or Aldous in my hair
Cut it all off
I am built to self-destruct in front of Heavenly Bodies
And I will do as I am told
How come no one wants to tell me what to do?
Tumultuous love pumped inside orange capsules
Delicate relicts from selective assholes
Midnights of moaning and more on display
Prophets of sophists talk “word of the day”
I turned to the temple of sweat, spit, and something
Just to find an exit sign with busted lights
I chuckle, the hairs sticking up on my arm
The joy of a road with an end goal of harm