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Before I Drink This Vodka
No Where To Go No Where To Be
No One And No Thing To Belong To
I'm Just Another Dead Day Dream
And The Night Knows What I Am
So I Fall For Fantasy And The Surreal
Surrender My Imagination To Horrors
Not Known When Surrounded By Others
But I'm Trapped Here With Myself
So I Torture Myself To The Severest
Degree I Find Myself Hoping I'll Break
Fall Into This Pit Of Despair I
Constantly Sit On The Ledge Of And
Disappear Into This Void Of Self Hatred
Too Busy
Trying to figure out what the world is doing to delve into myself. Last time I checked, the landscape was pretty okay. I use bandaids and paint, industrial strength cohesive and sanding materials to keep it sane - otherwise . . .
the doors would lock automatically
and no one would be allowed inside
the floor would have traps placed
in every other block of tile
like a chess board with boobey
traps to cheat when losing.
all things bright and cheerful
would be banned, no tv, I
might run into a happy moment
a fate worse than running into
love. reaping demons, sowing
demon seeds, I can not see
the forest for all the fire. life
would actually have purpose
but life is busy destroying
everything beautiful and then
arresting the balance of anything
that might bring a smile
to the lips of granite statues.
automatic locking doors keep
out the hope mongers.
allets
12-10-16
111a