Poetry rants

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You’d carry on like that for the rest of the night.
Drinking bad beer and smoking bad cigarettes.
It would have been poetic if it wasn’t so fucking depressing.

He talks about "proper music" in the middle of the street cause there's no cars around at this time.
You take a seat opposite on the tarmac and shove him with shoes you probably should have thrown out by now but that's what you like about them.
"Noise is noise baby."

And that's that though he's still talking and lying down so now you're lying side by side on the road you grew up on.
There aren't stars cause it's England and the weather's shit but looking up and laying back on cold hard ground really puts things in perspective.
You say so and he turns to look at you not saying anything just staring like he doesn't need anything else and you wonder if you're meant to have fallen in love by this point.