A Night Meant For Grave Robbers by Cole Bauer

Pitch black nights that smell like death
Humidity and heat blows the rot smell around
All is peaceful, boring, and miserable

They remain inside with their air conditioners blasting
Sitting, eating, zoning out, and watching TV
Gaining weight and just existing not living

They all live, work, and don’t realize they’re in
The coffin before they pass
The security and comfort means more than exploring and being a part of whatever this all is

Those nights are meant for grave robbers
Deserted darkness
Void of even the authority when there is no one to ever catch or even search for
Who undo the hard work of the gravedigger
Who does hard labor during brutal sweat-drenching days

One buries, one digs up, the circle continues
They’re still doing more than the rest around them
They’re keeping a routine, and making it, but there is no life in the deeper-meaning sense

Makes them happy?
So be it
I just don’t understand
Have a passion or hobby or meaning
Have an end game or goal or mission
But they love the desolate haze of life in the abyss

Maybe I don’t get the joy of passing an expiration date
It’s boring
It’s stale
It’s death while alive
It’s the south
Texas

Cole Bauer
My name is Cole Bauer. I’m an American screenwriter, author, and poet currently in the dirty south of the U.S.A.. I was born and partially raised in the Twin Cities of Minnesota. I was raised and lived for most of my life in San Diego, California. I’ve lived, off and on, in Texas for six years. Traveled around America as well. I am inspired and motivated by street-writers like Charles Bukowski, John Fante, and Dan Fante. I enjoy clearing out my brain on to blank sheets of paper and empty screens. I love writing random short stories, pilot scripts, and film screenplays also.
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