The Hustler

dropped another and another
just one after another after another
until they were all gone, and the pool hall
was covered in chalk and filled with smoke
one more game, one more bet and it will all be over
hour after hour after hour until there were none
like the seconds on a broken clock
just ticking away into infinity
the game will never be over; it never really started
the game is in the mind and must be taken over matter
until the matter is settled in the stomach
with a fifth of burboun whiskey
and a shot of scotch
like nothing ever happened after that damp kiss
between two troubled lovers, but nothing was ever solved
stuck in a perpetual vortex of sex and booze and cigarettes
like life is nothing but an ashtray and a billiards room
might as well be, until the sun rises and the blinds are opened
so you might come to realize what you've lost: time
in the haze that never seems to land
just floats around aimlessly
never finding a place to settle
you just couldn't hack it,
didn't have the mettle
so go on with your filth and sleepless hangovers
keep living out of a train station locker and off your dame's dime
because one day you'll realize its not just a game
that the balls will always fall but your life
will never be fulfilled
that she may be here now
but soon even she too,
will be gone for good