thoughts on staying alive

why torture yourself to make three meals,

clean the dishes, brush your teeth,

and still leave yourself enough time

to chill before the work calls again?

like a dinner bell rung out so of tune that

now it’s just an alarm we all starve to.

i hate this system.

i hate the bureaucrats throwing pennies

down at the rabble

as if we can chew on copper

and go to work tomorrow.

it makes me so vengeful i want

to die in this sallow, rotting place.

it makes me want to die and i’ve never

said that phrase with meaning.

because really, there is too much

that needs fixing.

i need to leave or scrape at the ground

hope to god that under this concrete

there will be seeds waiting - but

i don’t have high hopes.

there isn’t enough room for a grave

let alone a field.

i want to see what we could possibly grow,

but i doubt it will yeild.

the ground is too cold.