Santa Monica Yacht Club

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Vintage Publishing
Feeling like a zombie here

Submitted: July 02, 2019

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Submitted: July 02, 2019

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I don’t fit in at this party, hell I don’t even like them,

 

Why the fuck am I here then, burning under the Caliornia sun?

 

A drink in my hand, but my tolerance is high, so I don’t succumb,

 

Feeling like a damn zombie, in the Santa Monica Yacht Club.

 

Catching fever dreams, burning up in the summer heat,

 

Hands shaking from anxiety, no DT, this is literally hell.

 

Sea spray from the Pacfic stings my eyes, salt level is too damn high;

 

Imagine that, I can see the pier and pacific park from here.

 

Dressed to the nines, yet I’ve only got about three to my name,

 

Spark up a cigarette, another shot got me feeling like the Marlboro Man.

 

Tired of making small talk, every conversation feels the exact same,

 

You do know that it’s possible, to enjoy company without talking?

 

Touchdown in the 904, a long way from my home in the 301,

 

Jet lag got my body clock fucked up, but it’s 5 o'clock somewhere.

 

Yeah this party did me well, it surely helped to deepen my despair,

 

Nobody looking at me, either passed out or buried in their smartphones.

 

No it’s alright, don’t mind me, trying to have face to face conversation,

 

I know your phone is much more exciting, just pretend I’m not even here.

 

You say you’re listening to me, yet I feel like I’m giving a narration

 

Of the situation, so vain and vapid, surrounded by plastic people.

 

I don’t fit in at this party, hell I don’t even like them,

 

Why the fuck am I here then, burning under the Caliornia sun?

 

A drink in my hand, but my tolerance is high, so I don’t succumb,

 

Feeling like a damn zombie, in the Santa Monica Yacht Club.

 

Catching fever dreams, burning up in the summer heat,

 

Hands shaking from anxiety, no DT, this is literally hell.

 


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