Audit.

It’s another night of useless dribble
In this dead end cow town
And it’s always four in the morning

There’s no such thing as empathy
For the boredom you endure
..and the people walk around here like they own the place
when it’s merely the room, and re-heated sausage they pay for

smoke your cigarettes in the corridor,
go on
I dare you
Your plastic wallet’s a click away
And my door is always open

You don’t scare me
You know.
With your threats of southern drawl
Your promises
Of ghastly letters; written in spite
Over a broken iron
Or a barking dog

I don’t really give a shit where your towels went
As far as I’m concerned you can drip dry
Because tonight I am one with the answers

I am the map
I am the door mat
I am the lifeline to things you think you need

So go on now
Get your 80 dollars worth of sleep in
There’s a cold morning in store
For you
A long drive of nasally complaints to endure

It’s never the bothersome that bother me
It’s the ones who have the answers
The one’s they think are theirs
…They’re mine;

Truth be told.

Because when you get back
Home
You’ll realize how good you’d had it
You’ll miss that phone that always answers
Your every beckon call