I want to write a better world,
but observing it is like trying to hit
a shrinking moving target
that no longer exists.

It is poetic pain exposed
with a wet runny red nose
that tries to sniff this rose
which grows from a puddle of mud and ****
whilst the thorns have scratched and pricked
the thin skin that has not started
to thicken just yet.

It is like having a plastic band in hand
and pulling it cause you plan
to use the tension to hold in
all of the bleeding
that this sick and deceiving
world has caused
but when you pause
the band snaps back
and attacks with fierce pain
causing more blood to drain
then it helps hold in.

It is like punching yourself in the face
to explain the pain of being hit there
realizing quickly no one gives a **** to see
said sad suffering
when there are tons of short videos
that distract all of those
who you long to teach.

It is just maddening.