C
I can pick chair hare nou
Curly mop
What a shock
"It's all coming to an end,"
Let's suspend...
Youthful exhibitions require emotional instability
The problems of few moons seem so
magnified
amplified
As seen through
Lens untrue
Of the divisions of time aka
Middle-aged kids
Soon adorned with
Graying blurs of
Gritty wisdom,
stoic schisms
i no knot
But eye sea
What could be
Much of nothing
And nothing to know.
Much of nothing and nothing to know
This is why I don't take the safety talks seriously. I'm the safest MFer on the block, but my employer gives us this demonic spontaneously combustible shit then tells me to be safe. How in the everliving F does this make sense. My wife tells me about her day. She taught a great lesson, picked up the kids, made some banging tacos. How was my day? I didn't erupt in flames while sitting in the drive through of Taco Bell. I escaped another potential day of death once again. Only 59 million days to go. Wish me luck! Oofaloofa I feel better.
Tough times make tough people.
Keep your eyes on the finish line and everything will be fine.
The cold man blows hard on my heart, but I've got places to see.
I'll keep my feet moving and
won't let his hard stare deter me.
Focus on the music, and
keep the body grooving.
The fierce wind beats bruises on my chest and wraps its steely fingers around my neck.
I have to keep going
with everlasting power in my hands
like a stalwart defender
in his very last stand.
Tough times make tough people.
Keep your eyes on the prize, and your spirit will only rise.
What does that mean?
Are you trying to kill me?
The demon.
I gotta write this down.
Thoughts.
Voices.
I gotta write this down.
I came downstairs, jubilant. The best I've felt in a long time. I quit coffee and booze, successfully might I add, on Dec. 30, 2021. I felt like I was drinking steadily since 2020. I've been tired since, with the traveling, peopling, and finally, quarantining. Not tired. Exhausted and on the last fumes.
I've been cuddly all day, snuggly since last night. You asked me how I felt. Elated, I hugged you, and then I was jolted back into the numbing reality of your resentment.
"I wish I could get a day off. Oh, wait, I can't."
Just like that, my sunny day turned dark and stormy. The guilt I feel when I heal is unhealthy. It makes me hold my tongue, and I can't even look you in the eye anymore because I feel guilty for merely existing.
Misery loves company, so I'm better off in my own company.
Although this time is stressful, and it's easier said than done, take this time to recuperate, because you're not the only one, to deal with the madness, of the local PO, who fires the willing, and only promotes the slow. It'll take time, but chances are you'll be back with backpay.
When I ask you for something,
to do something,
to not do something,
and you ignore me,
I feel
physically weak
and mentally drained.
I recall
when people
used to listen to me,
when my words
held value,
and how much
brighter my soul felt.
Now,
all I feel
is silence,
for being silenced,
for words
without weight
amongst the deaf
and unwilling
are futile at best
and preposterous at worst.
These words
are like
plugging a rowboat
with a drill.
These words
are ten elephants
balancing on
a single beach ball.
Silence
Like there is no point in speaking
So I retreat
Because I have
no energy to fight
for I have been weakened.
I've lost my spirit.
I've forgotten my spark.
I've dulled my light
with this chemical dependency.
This year will be tough, but from it, I will grow.
