I have to wipe
the **** from
the toilet seat
before I sit down
to write this, and
outside the drunks
are drunker than I

remember.
They slur their nothingness
so that once again
I sense comfort
in an accidental,
quick death
away from it all.

There is no chance
of joining in again;
at the best of times
it is a test
of toleration.
This game is hate

filled envy
for the ignorant.
Their confidence,
quirkiness, complaints
and compliance
are the holes
in my weary armour...

For, the few occassions
when I am truly alone
I am god himself
staring down at the landscape
as if it were bare,
with a face consuming grin
as I write away

their worth
and, with it,
mine.