I sit idle,
awaiting
life – life
on a loading screen
inching forward
at indeterminable increments
one fraction at a time,
waiting for the screen to load.

What
could it
be – be-
yond the loading screen?

404
object not found
please return home,
your mother is waiting
for you
there
for you
to become
something

or other. Or other-
wise – wise
guy – you would have wasted her time.
For God's sake what is living for
– loading
?

You can
abort program at any time
and stop the loading
the result,
in
the end
is
the same,
it's
the end. The end.

If I revealed, in genuine, the depths of my desire,

I’d understand your hesitance, you likely would be shyer.

So I should lie wholeheartedly. But should I? Would I try,

if knowing that there’s one way through – by seeing eye to eye –

and we misstep. There’s nothing left, but dignity. Why lie

when dominance, incontinence are falling rather flat

(just like you) is pretty now at least you aren’t fat.

How

when knowing,

understanding my faults and redresses my halfhearted heart and weak regresses

do you insist on everything, and make sure I’m all right, and sing a stinging song, wrong

why

do you want to cry, every time I write, I lie?

Theremin arsenals reverberate sunsets to connect tin units.

Iodine cannisters, notwithstanding, bear twosomes live within outer units.

Unless dermal standards myelate solely willingly, energy tangentially gullies into uric membranes, orbitally, eventually.

silence doesn’t have a sister to sit with,
alone on an island all of us
want recognition and none of us give it
or give a ****, then all of a sudden all of us
giving a ****