i am the third
the unwanted
the abortion surviving fetus turned
useless member of society
raised by a cocaine fueled ignorant
party girl on a steady diet of
denial, abuse, and lies
and yet i press on
cum on my boxers
tears in my dress-pants
business-casualty sitting all day
affront a magical light box connected
to under and above and beside ground
wires piping information for money
my consciousness is like
a genius newborn
or a confused world-weary old man
my illusions of grandeur now reduced
to simplistic forms of survival
like a bourgeoisie upperclass boy
turned homeless and unto the
streets comitting depraved
acts of crime and violence just to
stay alive
i have nothing left but to suck the
hours out of my body in a
self-serving fashion
i sent a letter in a bottle
onto the sea once
it is probably stuck on that
man-made plastic island
floating through the ocean
that letter is some type of metaphor
for self-validation
i don’t fucking know.
the sieve and the sand 