Spinning Quietly in the Dark
I prefer the heavens painted
In more natural tones
Versus lines drawn by the likes of men
Dressed in tin, and leaving wakes
Over quartered land
And concrete lakes
Limbless trees, webbed in wire
Stand erect as barren monuments
Evidence of our desire
To connect
Yet we all still feel alone
Adrift on rafts we call telephones
Not calling home
Mother’s Day
I spent a lifetime knowing
A world with you as part
Evenings when I could have called
News I should have shared
Weeks went by, I never said
I cared
And now this first Mother’s Day
Comes for me
A ghost drifts in like Christmas past
There is no voice for me to hear
The phone won’t ring
‘Hello dear’
Goodbye mom
Epoch Unremarkable
Another three years of the stagnate
Life feels more like a hobby
Shading in the outlines of minutes
With self mutilation
From smoke inhalation
And other such nonsense like loathe
Every day, the gears grind out
Sleepless nights
My restless mind
But am I just bridging the gaps
Somewhere between here and collapse?
Self Absorbed Bullshit Artist
I smoke cigars
Like, a lot
And somehow I have accepted
This farcical
Going-through-the-motions
Imitation cheese existence
Of some
Half-alive automaton
That has learned to wear fake smiles
And hide in the fringes
Of disconnect
And honestly I hate it
Like, a lot
(I don’t want pity or support or any of that. I just wanted to bleed this goddamned feeling out a bit to ease the fucking pressure.)
