2 AM
this poem pairs well with existential crisis
Image description:
.
.
Need to dead dead
.
The best of those memories
.
These
.
That won’t forget me
.
Regret’s revenge
.
THROTTLE ME LIKE A
.
QUALITY LOBOTOMY
.
Take me back to the end,
.
When you thought of me
.
As a friend;
.
Invent a universe
.
Where we made it all make sense
.
.
.
What grows in all this soil
.
Coiling out of me??
.
Ground me down
.
So you could
.
count on me
.
But you’re still not
.
Proud of me
.
.
The crowd and me
.
Turned cowardly
.
Wage war
.
Hourly
.
Devoured by
.
Devoutness
.
Undoubtedly
.
.
.
Loudly
.
Drowsy
.
Still drowning
.
In overdraft fees
.
.
.
Please;
Stop shouting at me
.
.
Forging a path ahead
From best guesses
and inherited dread
.
Each pleasure
Stretched
To the thread
.
spaghetti thin
plate full of
death threats
.
If the world ends tomorrow
At least we’ll look our best
.
Desperate to be
Pedestrian
.
Pledge allegiance to the lesbians
.
Measured by messiness
Etched in emptiness
Penned by the penniless
Tended by unsteadiness
.
The monstrous unconscious
from the corner office
Mock modesty of
The mobs of jobless
Living out of boxes
“Poverty” and
“Options”
too often
at odds;
.
Who, not me,
Could beat these odds?
.
Trapped in this
the traffic of tragic
the laughable illogic
.
From the past
To the blast
From painful praxis
To the truly batshit
.
These little
Prisons we all inhabit
.
.
My very existence
Your own little
Freak show exhibit
.
of
Invisible rhythms
Gifted and grifted
Frisky and unfixed
A binge and a bridge
And the offspring
Of a brick
Just brought back
From the brink . . .
.
Think it into ink
Will it into silver
.
bill like
the ones
who own the buildings
With the ability to debilitate
Don’t you feel liberated
.
GOD, THIS FUCKERY
.
Run for recovery
Drugged into discovery
Corrupted by the othering
Smothering and suffering
.
This reality is rather rubbery. . . . . .
.
When will any of it be enough for me????
.
.
.
.
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