What goes up will come in for a landing
The belligerent crash
I'm done trying
For the cushion of wheels spun in a coast to grace
There's too much doing
Every push has me slithering
Through the spittle of lies
Spurting from vicariously indignant mouths
In their search for how hard to work to work less
To help just enough
My naive and belatedly terminated youth
I blame you
More than the latchkey existence
Left to me to kill the boredem with hope
In spite
The breakdown anti-hero prays
For a time everything is a fire in the positive