I hear the world is full of pain,
Flooding, terror, acid rain;
Music, theatre, laughs and art,
Whiskey, coffee, beer and darts,

Rainbows, glaciers, hiking trails;
Rare Pepes and EPIC FAILs,
Overwatch and Pokemon Go;
Donald Trump and Bernie Bros;

Dreams, and Drugs, and Rock n' Roll,
Dharma, Love, and the eternal soul,
The Holy Quran and the Higgs boson
Tajwid in Geneva, QFT in Tehran.

Yet day by day I sit and type
Edit, grep, compile, pipe
All  that a system smoothly might run
Ashes to Ashes, Zero to One

'''
npm install; grunt &; restart nginx
docker run -d me/interests; pkill sleep; pkill ***
nice 14 nutrition; rm /etc/cron.daily/exercise
pkill -STOP judgment; scp foodler:'**/{burger,fries}' ~
'''

It's rather ironic that this metal you see,
Seems quite a better multitasker than me
Whereas It stops its world to switch one task for others
My open descriptors always overflow my buffers

Whereas it take new patches with a simple 'apt-get'
My resolve for upgrades I quite often forget
And when its health checks fail, we regrow the ASG
But my self won't reboot. et memento mori.

The smell of the dark earth emanates from me,
As the wind tries to kiss my bare skin but only tickles it trying to get my attention like sirens in an empty sea where beauty is found in the trees and these,
Rocks
See,
I was hoping that this life I lived would allow me to stop and smell the roses
But I found that time doesn't care what you want
it only sees straight forward and doesn't care about the means to reach the end,
The,
Final destination,
Whether or not your destined for greatness you're destined for a dead end, which time has orchestrated,
And final dying cries are her symphony
Because you only see how beautiful she is when she's gone,
When your out of time
Because we always want the things we lack and then it's wasted when we have plenty
I live for days wondering which second of the next minute will be my last
Because they say time waits for no man,
It doesn't have the time to as it laps you twice seconds after hearing the gun
And honestly I can tell you now second best is never good enough for me
Especially when you find all that you thought you had worked for turned out to be a lie
See time,
is brutal
Especially when it's wasted,
Because the smell of dark earth emanates from me,
And the wind tries to caress my bare skin
And I see that I should've stopped to smell the roses when I had the chance,
but I learned my lesson too late

I

Hero
in
Hero

He struts into a meeting feeling meek and needy but,
greater than the digit zero.
He figits around not breaking much mental ground although,
these restless legs could corrode the tiles to dust.
Nothing has been able to hold his attention,
they call it ADD.
He calls it the human condition.
He sees fear in a spoon full of dust,
shrugs it off continuing to pump veins full of rust.
Packs a bag and gives sister a hug,
trudge down under I95 reaching Broad to south Philly,
to be at peace and tormoil living amongst the crust.

II

Trying marijuana maintenance
Trying therapeutic intervention
Trying geographical relocation
Trying to be happy.
A pale king in the end a peasant feeling sappy.
He writes
He fights
To the bitter end he sees too many loved ones send,
Letters from the graves they dig for themselves.
An addiction which cannot bend and always leaves
Them broken.
These letters represent a token of hope to overcome
Dope, from beyond this temporal transient world,
He receives these letters.
Don’t give up! Don’t give in!
Written, in beautiful otherworld cursive.

III*

These restless legs can wear the cotton sheets
To fractured fibers.
A splintered conscience,
A glint of hope,
These trans-dimensional letters arrive on a silver rope.

The pale king takes it all in with no buffering
And dismisses his selfish suffering.
He has won
He is the hero of this story.

The pale king who once strolled the Kensington
Streets less than zero.

Is now a ****** hero.

Rally around this man,
A clan of beautiful addicts,
Laughing and not being normal,
Who wants a life which is normal?

All his friends
All his friends
All my friends  

The memories together blend,
In the end our ****-ups make us stronger,
Than the accountant making ends meet in a
Culd-a-sac street sign labeled dead end.

We spent the last ten years trying to feel alive,
And will spend the next ten feeling justly deprived.

His letters scream to defend:
That it is all well worth it, in the end.

Where are those friends tonight?
He visits them at their headstones,
Reminded where it leads, a life being ******.

Shivering cold to the bone,
Hot sweats dripping down flannel folds,
All we wanted was to break the mold.

He is more than a statistic of decimals and
Digits, greater than the sum of zero.

He is the hero(in) hero.

No longer
Less
Than
Zero.