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I sit in a burgundy leather chair at work
Hoping that I don't get fired.
But I tried downloading an unauthorized program onto my computer
And a pop-up with the word *******
Flashed across the screen when I went to check the baseball scores.

Maybe I will forsake this whole ******* life
And run off into a hermitage
Heaping ashes on myself, prostrated before a cheap wax statue.
But on some level what I'm really doing
Is avoiding responsibility.

I'm dreading the drive home, to be honest
Because I know you will greet me with that fiery anger
That paradoxically gives me an *******
But also breaks my heart.

Maybe I can just walk in the door
***** preemptively sealed in a yellowed Mason jar,
And say,

"Just stay right where you are, Steve."
"We don't want any trouble..."
this is a ****** poem
East Wind Mar 11
Collections of my disorderly thoughts
gathered together with knots
of my ample desire
to make sense of my everyday life.
I write poetry, however bad they might be, to help me analyze my feelings.
corlitta Feb 20
there were times
I almost said it

there were moments
i let it be shown

there were hours
I should have allowed it

but you are not my own.
money,
love,
power,
fame

everybody is looking
for something
i'm just looking for a burger that looks like the one I saw in the commercials
it's said if you ain't first, you're last,
so I keep going 'til I crash
then wake the morning with a grin
to burn through all that **** again

I never wake up feeling good
but reason why is understood
although I know it brings me pain
i'm not complete if I don't train
but I don't know how to
in a world where
not having money
is just another way to be dead
try to be productive, but it's
hard to come up with the energy when
the only gift I may possess, my
words cut like a razor's edge and
leave me bleeding

with every negative thought,
another laceration


worthless,

lazy

(my ears are ringing)

"but wait, there's more!"

now comes the replays,

all the times I wasn't there

when I was really needed

(legs feeling weak)

all the people that have left this world

their faces

( I want to curl up in a little ball)

the last time I saw them, and my

mind struggles with that, incessantly

(I no longer want to exist)

until i'm too shattered, too
weak
to drag my *** out of this
bed
I don't know how much longer I can do this
the waking hours can be chaotic,

like being in the eye of the storm

I see the destruction around me,

hear the deafening sounds of the winds,

and i'm not sure which way to go,

if I was to run away

but after it dissipates, the days return

to a peaceful, harmonious state

and nights with her are calm and tranquil
all things in balance
speeding round the curves

flying over the hills

my ***** went in my stomach,

I spilled some beer,

when we had to slow down

for that tractor

with a plow attachment

interrupted

was about to take a ****
luckily, we didn't encounter any deer that night



be it half full

or half empty,

fill it with

whatever

makes you happy


or pour some out

for whoever makes

you

h a p p y


just be sure to save

a little for yourself
let your cup

runneth over

if

that's whar ya like


just don't go around stealing drinks
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