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Michael Rucker Jan 2017
I lose myself when in the rain, closing my eyes to wake. Water pushing against my blood vessels, crying for the pressure to cease. Black rings surrounding my ocular cavity, collapsing in the sand. Waves crashing, clouds rolling. The oracle speaks a message...
Michael Rucker Jan 2017
To be honest, it's kind of a "blind distaste."
Resembling the last pill you swallow but gag on, for the simple fact it's "getting old."
It takes on the form of a psychological car crash,
no tame draw, only relentless disburse.
An art form content with an incomplete canvas.
Drunk nights, carrying a worn body down the hallway, stumbling over nothing.
Michael Rucker Dec 2016
Waking up in the morning, to face hallway lights beaming through cracks in my door.
It's 6 A.M. and nobody has to work.
The sun isn't up yet.
Insect repellent, dousing the floors of the house.
My shoes were where I left them, last night.
Michael Rucker Dec 2016
Look into your mirror,
bask in the essence of your aging body.
Notice yourself become more engulfed by your own life,
while becoming more and more detached,
from every one, and every thing around you.

Go to school and sit alone,
find the hallway in the isolated part,
just to eat lunch there.
Avoid your girlfriend's calls
and tell her "you've just been busy."

Become frustrated with everyday tasks,
and fall into a manic state of depression when you realize,
that you're the reason nobody comes around anymore.
Repeat the same song every day on your afternoon commute to work,
as the dreary humming of the melody carries each and every burden.

When people offer you help.
scoff at the idea and deny it.
Turn down every opportunity they throw your way,
shut out the world for a chance to finally be alone.
Fall absent of the world, conjure your body to glass.

Start to become infatuated with pretty faces,
and base your self-esteem on ****** expressions.
Smoke cigarettes on your walks down to the store,
then come home and write about how the cute clerk smiled at you
for just a single moment in time.

Buy a twelve pack every day,
sit on the same couch you placed in your dim apartment five years ago.
Drink every last beer until you're seeing double.
While you struggle to stand and slur every word you speak,
call your ex and tell her how leaving was "a mistake."

Cry beneath your blankets every night,
with the same pain in your chest you've had for ages and
lull yourself to sleep with the sweet whisper of inebriation.
A tribute to Dandelion Hands.
Michael Rucker Nov 2016
Self-righteous desire to speak,
seeming impossible upon "genuine."
The overbearing stature of this burden,
bared like a cross, hearts and sleeves.
Behold, the nuisance choking graciously on falsetto cries.
locked within skull cavities.

Mutuality funding mindless self-indulgence.
Michael Rucker Nov 2016
That sun burning my **** skin.
Watching Gerod throw every last bit of trash on the ground,
seeing the rolls and plastic lie atop the pebbles.
and that **** sun.
Michael Rucker Nov 2016
We put together pieces,
carry the weight we don't want to,
and break our backs.
We live to see our kids grow,
hope to fall in love,
and pray to god we don't stop moving.
Take a look at the way things are,
and tell me it isn't breathtaking.
Peer through your neighbors window,
watch the heartache when the father dies,
behold a child's face when they say "where's dad?"
Watch their neighbor,
the struggling mother with three kids and no husband.
Witness the man winning the lottery,
the woman being made C.E.O.
Look at this world and tell me what you see isn't beautiful.
Watch this world fall apart and be built again.
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