Maggots on Flesh

The face you see. On the side of a half-drunk bottle of whisky. In a pool of piss. That’s not you. It’s a flesh vessel. A piece of meat. One that has ambition. Dreams. And is stupid enough to believe it can be something more. More than a shitty utility slave. We wake up. Soaked in ambition. Ready to try again. Ready to give it another shot. But it’s useless. Because ambition gets us nowhere. And…