Always closer than you ever think it is, one
Little slip, and you're straight through the abyss
Finding out in the end, all life ends. Carrion.
Vultures with eight tracks and tape decks

Copulation and emotion means I'm breeding ****** hatred
And I hate it
Mockeries of notions once raised
In earnest
Flirting with danger, burning moth to the flame
Stirring up anger with a few thoughts on pages
Irking, and senseless, the ******* sensation

Self righteous indignation, taking words of the page
Same goes for the gumption, with wars that I wage with myself
Heath goes first, better or worse
Slit eyelids, cause it can't hurt to see straight

It's always closer than you ******* think it is, one
Little slip, and this bleakness you insist
In existing in, ends, without a prerogative
As opaque as ever, severing lungs

Servitude, I could never miss, its
Fluid as my thoughts on narcissist

Lingerie rustles
As hangers squeak and strain,
Sliding across the sturdy bars
That hold retail up,
Cradling profits,
Like a fistful of bills,
Illspent.
I yawn;
Exhausted by such a drearily normal moment;
A weary reminder
Of the long hours ahead of me,
And the demands of my
Ever-watchful overlords.
Still,
my mind wanders,
Thinking that perhaps sleep will come easily tonight,
Despite the wakeful rest I've found here
leaning on this
cool,
white
counter.
Perhaps it will be time to leave soon,
And reach
for the sunny skies I can see
taunting me from beyond the glass;
To leave behind this dusty,
dreaming
perspective,
And leap into adventures,
as of yet,
unknown.
I sigh,
Returned
to be merely an observer to my working hell,
An unwilling participant
To the necessary waste
of a perfect Spring day.

Tick, Tock
You listen to the drone
Of a fan
Music ticks by
Three minutes, Thirty-seven seconds
Four minutes, Thirty-eight seconds
Five minutes, Ten seconds
Stop
Alt-tab away
Think about something else
You can't listen to this anymore
Fan drones on
Laughing in another room
Someone plays piano next door

Do something, DO something!
Look at downloads
Four hundred and sixteen
Out of
Four hundred and Fifty-three
Time equals
Distance over Speed
Numbers that go forever,
Listen to the story
"Today's going to be a good day"
And write the numbers coming up on the screen
Just to do something
Seven-Eight-Two-Eight-Point-Five-
Seven-One-Four-Two-­Nine
And papers build up around you
It's the same calculation done
Every 10 minutes
Because 35 Kilobytes per second
And you're exhausted
But you need to do something
That isn't hearing the same music,
That isn't playing Solitaire
Over and Over and Over
Watch numbers go up
Write numbers going down
Two hours, Thirty-Five minutes
Two hours, Twenty-Three minutes
Two hours Seventeen
Two hours Ten
Fifty-One

Four-Twenty-Nine-Point-four
Out of
Four-Fifty-Three

Tick Tock
The drone of a fan
The music's stopped
Someone next door has stopped playing piano
Stare
Into the space on your paper
More space
To fill
With numbers

more than a few shattered bulbs
for the muse with the bloodied face
and broken nose.

at the end of the rope
i am merry, masochistically, asking him
"spare an original thought?"

and he can
but as soon as he agrees to let me use it
it evaporates

so i go back to punching holes through the drawing board.

Solvent and solution
Kept assuaged for so long
Treading in the selfishness of my subconscious state
Of barely traceable memories, spurred on by the gravity of time spent
At the briefest hint at past involvement

Each leaf falls, eventually.
Every pristine little well formed tended to.
Each nurtured, cared for, parcel or idea.

I can watch them for hours
Watching them fall, one by one, for hours.
When days start to bleed together, out of the corner of my eye,
I can always see them, marking progression.
Collecting in drifts, then, taken by the wind, then
The rot sets in.

I used to watch this.

I used to find time.

The roof cast me in its shadow, even standing along the banister that runs along the length

Even as the final rays of sun start to vanish one at a time

Reminds me of the time that I spent, time that I wasted.
Til the past and the future blend, and I feel so complacent.
Lost amid waves, formed in the wind of
Summer nights and lies that I told myself as a kid.

Now there's nothing honest left, except things to remember by.
A thousand little tokens, to remind me of every night
I let emptiness fill me, felt so fulfilling at the time,
But now I'm left to reminisces, realize I can't rewind.

I guess it takes more than a mess of emotion
To paint another picture, perfect, something envoking
The ideas that got me through the day, I heard it said, once again
There's never going to be another way forward

I take another shot in the dark, another empty park
Held in place by time itself, left to vacant dark, I take
Yet another step in place, too afraid to grow up
Holding off every force that i know of, as of late

I've been stuck in my head for long as I can remember
My memories tied to the presence of weather
All my best are nestled in cloudy days with the
Scent of rain so reminiscent, find myself stuck in these visions
Clinging to blind faith in
Emotions
Memories
So far gone, and I keep forgetting to make new ones

falling
down
down
into a blurry Slumber
shake me.
shake me.
but you will not wake me
from this interminable Sleep