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nights like static      unwinding
through prescription bottles and empty
notebooks    the doctor says
my heart is wearing thin    but what
does he know about hearts

there's ink in my veins now    replacing
what you drained    and it's going to take
you people decades to recover from
all of the damage    these pages
will burn clean through your hands
2025, Lost Lounge Massacre
we are all virgins of this moment
    (read this line again: it's different now)
                the second time is also a first time
                    each reading deflowers itself

here's a door that opens into memory:
but memory is always future-facing
    {and future is ****** territory
        wearing yesterday's clothes}

                    follow these words up
                up where the page bends
            into tomorrow's geometry
        while today remains unuttered

every letter you read
    dies into meaning
        and is reborn
            as something else
                (go back to the beginning:
                    you're new again)
2025, Lost Lounge Massacre
the trick wasn't falling
it was pretending to land
while suspended between
yesterday's promises and tomorrow's laugh

hey, I really cherished your bare minimum while it lasted
like watching dust dance
in the last ray of light
before the bulb burns out

we built cathedrals
out of cigarette butts
and called them progress
while somewhere
in the marrow of time
truth prostitutes itself
for another chance
at being wrong

everything holy
lives in dumpsters now
selling wisdom
at discount rates
to anyone who'll listen
to the sound
of dignity
learning how to crawl
2025, Lost Lounge Massacre
In stillness I observe the crowd's swift change,
From cautious distance to feigned victory.
Yet I, servant to reason, maintain my guard -
This cloth upon my face, a simple shield.

Not for praise nor reproach do I persist,
But guided by Nature's unchanged decrees:
That which threatens life demands response,
Whether others choose to see or blind themselves.

Let them mock or stare - external things
Hold no power over the fortress within.
What is right needs no majority,
What is prudent requires no validation.

This mask - mere fabric, yet a duty fulfilled,
To self, to others, to the cosmic order.
Death comes when it must, yet wisdom asks
That we do not hasten its arrival through pride.
2025, Lost Lounge Massacre
If you blow on your wine during a zoom meeting,
they will think you're just drinking coffee—
what a delicate dance of morning deception,
this sleight-of-hand in high definition,
while the universe yawns at our games.

Deep in the digital catacombs
where souls flicker in LED frames,
we toast to the art of looking proper
(your burgundy betrays no color
when the webcam's grain runs coarse).

Sweet entropy, how you must laugh
at our professional charades,
these paradox moments of truth and pretense—
one drink that's two in pixeled space,
while time ticks by in muted grace.
2025, Lost Lounge Massacre
we sit in coffee shops
debating Marx
while thugs learn
the art of the swing

our PhDs gather dust
in rent-controlled apartments
where we write
manifestos
no one will read

somewhere
a high school dropout
is learning to lead crowds
with three-word chants
while we
parse syllables
and overthink
revolution

our libraries
full of solutions
gather cobwebs
while the streets fill
with simple minds
simple answers
simple violence

we're too smart
to be stupid enough
to win

educated chimps
in a cage
of our own design
watching the world burn
through designer frames
planning
planning
planning
until there's nothing left
to plan for
2025, Lost Lounge Massacre
my alarm clock tried to unionize today
so I replaced it with three raccoons in a trench coat
(they're much better at time management
even if they keep stealing my emotional stability)

you think morning people are *******?
I've evolved beyond the concept of time zones
my circadian rhythm is just
interpretive jazz at this point

i have conquered the mornings
the evenings and
everything in between
(that's code for "I haven't slept since 2019
and now I can taste colors")

productivity blogs say to make your bed
but I've transcended that concept
by turning my entire existence
into one continuous unmade bed

the sun and moon are just spicy frisbees
and I've caught them both
with my bare hands
(they're in my pocket right now, wanna see?)

ps: time is a social construct
pps: so is my sleep schedule
ppps: the raccoons agree
(they're my life coaches now, obviously)
2025, Lost Lounge Massacre
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