*Note: This was an experiment. I took a verse from every song on Warren Zevon's 1991 album Mr Bad Example, which is my favorite of his. I pasted them here, then asked my grammar program to edit them to sound more empathetic.
I spent a sun-soaked day meandering through the vibrant streets of Denver, my mind restless as I searched for a place to lay my head—ideally somewhere with unwashed sheets that hold the echoes of a thousand stories—while I sipped on a smooth shot of rye, letting the warmth wash over me. With a sense of adventure, I splurged on a first-class ticket aboard Malaysian Air, and upon landing in the lush landscapes of Sri Lanka, I felt none the worse for wear.
Photo by Javier Saint Jean on Unsplash
Hours slipped by, and I knew she had ventured out long before; I can only hope she’ll find her way back to me. I wait here, sipping my drink and staring intently at the door, a picture of patience as I yearn for my angel dressed in black to return. The thought of stepping outside into the rain feels heavy on my heart.
Suzie Lightning, with her fierce spirit, takes no prisoners in this game we call life. She captures the essence of fleeting beauty—one moment, she ignites the sky with electric energy and the next, she's gone, leaving only the aftermath of her brilliance.
I'm growing weary of our back-and-forth; the spark between us is fizzling out, and it feels like the final act of our little tragedy is upon us. We could choose to go down fighting; thanks for the memories, but there's no point in lingering here. You strive to perfect me, but I feel like a house of cards—a fragile castle built on sand, where even the slightest breeze could bring it all crashing down.
Surrounding us are rows and rows of broken hearts and shattered homes, and the sadness is palpable, an everyday reminder of the struggles we all face.
As evening settles in, cooling the air, the sun dips below the horizon while my wife laughs and plays canasta with neighbors, a stark contrast to my restless solitude. When the weight of the world feels unbearable and I crave escape, I pack up the Winnebago and drive it straight into the glistening lake, seeking solace in the depths.
Some prayers seem to drift endlessly into the void, unheard, while some wars rage on without resolution, and certain dreams cling stubbornly to life. Next time, I’d prefer to break rather than bend under pressure. The journey from dawn to dusk feels long and winding, and reaching the end of another day often brings only hollow triumph.
As the evening approaches, a fever of anticipation rises within me. When the chaos finally subsides, all that remains is the haunting echo of distant drums. They say love requires a little patience, a line to stand in, and yet, I find myself waiting for you, beloved, for what feels like an eternity.
I pace restlessly across the floor, eyes fixed on the door, all the while continuing my search for a kindred spirit, finding ways to fill my time in Denver when faced with the inevitability of departure.
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