the claws of
these poems
scratching into
the eyeballs
of blank faces,

faces holding onto
beliefs and propaganda,
and politicians and positions,
faces holding onto
justice and an outlook and
occupations and opinions
faces holding onto
****** victories and wisdom
and problems and grudges
fearful of losing
what little they have
with their incisive
expression of style and
evacuating their poisons
into conversations
into people.

but someone will be
there to replace you,
sleeping in your bed,
filling in at your job,
preaching morality
while the ******
are singing
in their showers
and someone who
you don’t know
will shovel dirt
2 yards into the
ground onto your
decomposing body
so let it all go
and just be

who knew that these
assortment of words,
arranged in peculiar ways
would save me
and get me this far?

but how much more
am I willing to go?

I’ve been living with the dead
and dead to the living
for so long,
there is
no more
light.