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Michael Opoku Nov 2018
i touch my soul and release the ON switch.

The darkness beckons like an aborted child full of possibilities never explored.
Potential never reached.
Heights never teached.
Things never speeched.
But life goes on thrashing like a rude animal, desperately devouring all in its path with no end in sight, and no table manners.
Trembling slowly, my hand reaches into the abyss for a drop of light to comfort my flickering life force. The only channel of hope that now rushes with the ferocity of a dying turtle, with no home to speak of.

TICK TOCK, click clack, the only sounds that remind me that reality never shuts off.
Where’s the remote?

It was never invented.

My shadows play dead to my consciousness, never there to teach me my concrete lessons.

So I scratch my bed stings, reminders of my past, itches of my present, and marks  in my future.

The fade to black is my only resolution.

The gavel sounds and I pinch myself, hoping it’s a dream, no it’s just a scheme, ultralight beam?

The ticks turn into Morse code. Translation?



Start over.
Michael Opoku Feb 2019
Frustrations mixed with delusions of grandeur, sipping on CrynChronic, at least Tails had Sonic. what good is a view if it’s covered in fog, haha look at the *** on the log. Oops it’s a mirror, no Alexa five more minutes, once my eyes open the anxiety starts, the peace departs, the draining begins, I’m losing my wind.

Glass #2 is a trip I want to cancel, no insurance so it takes its toll. I want to buy make up stock so credit it is. The interest is high so I bet on my feelings. District 13 odds but we came from the ground, shh not a sound, keep the tension inside. They say the greatest earthquakes come from the littlest lies. Remember the fruit! Every misstep is a big step, every bad course is a crash course, every tall tale is an exhale. Grow Up. I learn from the lessons but feed my depression, no free lunch, please charge my aggression. Insufficient funds when I withdraw my resentment. Look at the time it’s a quarter past regret, I hear they spit in your drink here. Another excuse to tighten the noose. Glass half full, no waiter thanks, I’m not thirsty.

— The End —