My how dreams can be
rather bleak and hazy
and altogether
misleading

But it's not exactly
all too comfortable
pacing up and down
on the same ground
until you score into
the very earth you hate
watching the dirt
rise past and over your head
until
finally
not even the light
can grace a single hair
on your defeated head.

Like all things
it all begins
from the beginning
and like most things
it never progresses.

They all build up
like a slow
rising
flood
infiltrating your
comfort
and replacing air
with water
until
even all the spluttering
all the struggle left in you
is not enough.

It always starts
With a kick in the teeth
And usually follows through
With a slump in your own
Filth

The pendulum swings
Forever and a day
First this way
And then the other
Way

Time keeps on kicking
With incessant clicks
Smashing your ear in
With such ruthless
Indifference

Left and right
Clockwise eternally

They say time is cyclic
Others say it’s linear
But I’ll go as far
As to say that it’s both
Repetitive and dull

I want to climb back into the womb
And so do us all

We try to find a way
And try to delve in
***** first
Obviously not with our mothers
That bag has already been opened
And the contents turned sour
Long ago

So we find other ways
To numb out the pain of living

Any means will do

It could be the sweet nectar of alcohol
Or it could be the rush
Of class A, B, or C drugs
Or it could be sacrificing your soul
For little versions of you
As nature intended

But all the above
Can only do so much
And I sometimes have to contemplate
Quite seriously
Suicide
To get me through many a bad night
When the beer doesn’t settle
Just right

Lost myself again
in this trivial world
of plain facts and knowledge

Bored of my prospects
aspirations and dreams

"You have potential!"
Yeah, and so did Helen Keller
but I bet she was happier
knowing her limitations

The lost conquest
of the inner self
plagues my mind
making ruins
of my achievements

If you truly are
what you have done
then in truth
you will always be
a shadow of your deeds

I am a man
of what I could of done
a procrastinator
with low self esteem

So walk on,
Men of virtue
walk on,
Men of grace
I grow tired
of your idols
I grow tired
of your ideals.

Where are you now?
Cairo?
Detroit?
Grimsby or Paris?

What are you thinking?
Finances?
***?
Luxuries?
Nothing?

Like a twig
shaking in the cold
winter wind

Like everyone
that ever lived
you haven't.