People often ask me if I’ve ever tried writing in any form other than “bad“.
No. No I have not.
Everyone looks so unsure how to make better use of their mouths —
These leaden silhouettes photoshopped over aged bodies
Slouched in the grotesque pose of aborted meat.
Choking back a mouthful of apathy;
They Spit ambitions at disinterested targets
While meandering through their shifting mistakes.
Where every aspiration ever aspired spurts from an artery in bursts of fractured light —
Staining the pallid corpse of the sun
Before it’s lost within an insipid pool of regurgitated vision.
So here I wade patiently for it all to end —
Alone in this muddled recess of time
Because staring at my phone is still more tolerable than talking to you.