Prostitutes And Waitresses

I’m frantically searching My disintegrating mind for prayers Alone somewhere abandoned by humanity. I’m so used to soul-crushing silence, If I hear a woman’s voice, I stop on a dime. I mutter to stray dogs In the freezing city rain To remind myself I’m alive. Everything has become surreal, I’ve been asked to leave dark bars Where the prostitutes and waitresses All have tattoos and scars. I’ve accepted these things, I’ve ceased searching for explanations For why my night skies Have gone starless And why I continue To entertain a lifetime of despair.