Out of line

Roaming in the empty space
not ready to pay the dues
hollowed but
chuckling out echoes
looking out
staring others out of their
own rooms
grinning faces smelling blood
inhaling the smell of
rotting flesh
close themselves up
before the slow moving words
catch up

was once something to show
and something to write
was the poetry called life
to dig up a meaning
reached out to
paint a picture
or sing a damn song
accused of soliciting
locked the door
chewing back on
all the words
that were said
leaving undigested all that
was left unsaid
winding down by
being hard pressed
and cheering now to
a constipated life
by crapping out lines
one line at a time