Friday, May 20, 2016


Increasingly, I've felt
As if every poem is a whine
Complain, bitch, explain
All these failures are mine

So what should I poem about then
Rainbows, puppies, candies and flowers?
I could try to find the rhymes for them
But I'd be sitting here for hours

And I don't really have hours
Poems stagnate and rot if you leave them out too long
The shelf life of rhymes is only few minutes
Then they fly away to some ancient heaven

So I do this when I feel like
So what if what I feel is a healthy sense of paranoia
Fear is only a byproduct of madness
This shit doesn't really need to matter
If it won't get any worse
It won't even get any better
The time has come to a standstill
The watch on my hand is broken
I still wear it, trapped in old routines
Of all the could-have-beens
Then I rip a new smile for my face
To face another day
Till it heals into an indifferent scowl
As the night falls

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