wasted times

this beat makes me want to write
until i'm decribing the sunrise
which brings light to the dark
dimention i've inadvertanly ventured into
too far down blocked roads and my soul is
as cold as i thought it was before
folklore called to me and i followed
haunting voices down corridors of the
mind until space and time were condensed
to a single second and the effects of
the reckless lifstyle and living wild
on the edge embedded themselves in
the archives of rhymes i've written
in times gone by and i'm gonna write
about something different tonight
figurative scriptures and lip written
rhythms to live by instead of the
high wire which sets synpanses on fire
with expectant desire and tireless
consumption... we live by rizla wisdom
we die by the assumption that getting ****ed up
is a full time occupation... smiling plastered
faces decorate memories of hazy dreams
lived out among the fiends but these scenes
were only ever wasted times

hmmm, this is a gaze into a dark dimension, isn't it (please see a few typos: demention (dimension), fiends (friends), decribing (describing) etc)... but is all of our time really wasted? your poem is as a wave, powerful and kind of final... hope for BETTER TIMES as your next poem! but thank you for this one.

I liked several lines, also this one: "smiling plastered
faces decorate memories of hazy dreams",
except for the word "plastered" which I find superfluous. Maybe only me.
Be well, best regards - Bar