Imagine a day spent
in pure, twisted agony
based completely on
perception.
Imagine the pain of
knives through hands when
there’s naught but a
sharpie drawing on knuckles
Imagine a flame burning
toes, burning tendons
when only a cat brushes
heavy on your feet
Imagine a morning
of crying for no one
when everyone’s out
in the living room, waiting
to say good morning to you.
Why do you torture yourself so?
Why do you always imagine?
inexplicably there are
days when an inextricable sadness
overwhelms me like an understated
undertow and i’m swept out to sea for days
despite your best efforts the lifelines you throw
are sometimes just too short but please know that
there are somethings one just has to do alone, like
drown.
In with the old
and out with the new
I’m looking forward to
trying something crude,
trying something old
that’s never been tried before;
perhaps for this year,
the thing to do
will be to resolve
to not do anything new,
to hold on to the things of yore
not caring if they are a bore.
No rest for the righteous
as we defend our keep and country
while the Queen attempts to castle
even though that move is against the rules
and frankly, doesn’t make any
God
Damn
Sense
No rest for the righteous
while the meek jaywalk for miles
across country not familiar too them,
hoping that the cops don’t stop
poor men with torn shoes
but a penchant for outdoor dancing
No rest for the righteous
while the wicked never
seem to sleep
anyway.
No rest for the righteous
until they Clock
Out.
the sieve and the sand 