Split Sides

Living Opposite a Gentlemen's Club

The room is dark and frigid
And it's enveloped by the
Stale air of emptiness
That implies the singularity
Of the being that resides in it.

Argh, here it goes again,
That detestable writer's block
That I can't seem to exorcise
Away from me.
I press my palms into my eyelids,
Deeply frustrated with myself
For being unable
To find a straight path
Between my mind and my hands.
I stare into that taunting white screen,
Willing a good line or phrase
To come into consciousness
But it reveals nothing to me,
It wouldn't want to be said
Right in that space and time.
I close the laptop screen
And take my mind off of this
For the moment.
I grab my mug
And sip my sweetened tea
And reproach myself,
Remembering that my tea
Has been sitting here for hours
And that it had made itself
Another piece of this
Bitterly depressing residence of mine.

I stare out from the uncleaned window,
The half-moon with its glimmering defiance
From the masses of clouds
Vainly obstructing it.
A howl of laughter pierces my thoughts
And I look down on the street
To find a grey sedan,
Its passenger door open
And a balding man in a tan overcoat
Stepping out from it.
He raises his arms,
Almost like he's lifting a large fish,
In front of this place,
The chintzy two-storey gentleman's club
I have the unfortunate luck
Of being its immediate neighbor.
Wrapping in a rainbow of neon and LED lighting,
It flaunts its thumping presence
And stands out shamelessly
In this decrepit neighborhood full of busted shops;
Their shutters being a canvas
For lurid words and symbols and what have you.
A few potholes along the slippery asphalt,
Like pockmarks on a person's face;
Their holes are filled in by gutter water
Showing a reflection, almost a parody,
Of a place of ephemeral salvation
Within this neighborhood
Of turmoil without relief.
The potholes are now reflecting
Two women stepping out of the double doors,
Both wearing heels and dresses ending
Just after the waist.
They greet the man in the tan overcoat
And share a laugh together
Before placing themselves
Along his extended arms,
Letting him lead them inside,
As if they've done this before.
Obviously, they're good at this game,
I think to myself,
As the sedan drives away
And the street is silent once more.

Absent-mindedly, I gaze at the club
With my weary eyes and vacant life.
That club, that den of debauchery,
So cheap yet so alluring.
Imagining the thrills such a place contains,
The temptation dawns on me
Like it had been ever since I moved here.
It lurks in the back of my mind,
A false sanctuary offering me
Somewhere to fill my hidden appetite
And heal my restless mind.
I ask myself, "Which is worse?
This place of mine
That's unbearable to anyone with a soul,
Or that club over there,
A metaphor for the tragic statement
Of my life thus far,
But with the solace of friendly company
To make it worthwhile?"
I stand at the window,
Holding my lukewarm cup of tea,
Internally wrestling with my choices,
Uncertain as to where I'm going
And what I truly want in the end.