777 Prospect Ave.
scantily clad women
and a kilo on the counter
white smiley faces
the wind could blow away
papers and paper backs
reeks like a hamster cage
waterlogged wood
swells and creaks
men with guns
holstered or otherwise
swagger from room to room
then mysteriously leave
the surrounding houses
with shot out lights
boarded up windows
no signs of life
our house stands Alone
Decrepit yet Glorious
testament to Lust, Addiction
and Parasitic existence
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