Reusing old graves

Some of your own blood

Nectar of your soul

To build this nest

This stinging canister

An assembly line of skeletal remains and burning wings

Pushing little armies on the left

Pulling little armies on the right

To march themselves out of existence

Life is a pesticide

Kills the flowers

Kills the connections

Keeps you working overtime

Just to hold on to a place where you can shuffle off this mortal coil

Something is at war inside of me

Someone said to me
Unless you are
Tired
Stressed
or overworked

And I wanted to say
You just described
My average day

And I was afraid to say it

Afraid not to say it

Afraid I would be a downer if I said that

Afraid I would seem holier than thou if I didn't

Afraid that if I didn't say it I would seem like I was left out of
Or too good for
Our culture

And then I wondered

How did we get here

That they way to fit in
In our culture

Is to be tired, stressed and overworked

And how ****** that is

Thought I knew this well.
every step I had to take,
every lie--delivered smiling--I had to sell,
every mindless task, no breaks.

Thought you knew of my own created, designer hell.
watching me falter towards an imaginary goal,
watching my fibs for tells,
watching my to-do list quadruple.

I thought I knew how to quit,
how to snap out of it.
I thought you knew about it,
and how to deal with this ****.

Turns out that neither of us knows jack-squat.
And that's alright, I swear I got this, yeah I'm good, I can do it.
I hoped for you to say something, I thought you knew I was talkin' *******.
Yet, without a word, you left
me to rot.

These are not human beings
flourishing amidst their modern backdrop
of screens and social media
and likes and retweets and the like

These are not smiling faces
aboard the train on their daily commute
heading to the job they hate
so they can come home to the family
who doesn't love them

These are not happy marriages
packed with love and affection,
But more like a failure
just a worthless, shattered piece of glass
that we grind beneath our shoes on the floor

These are caffeine and adderall-driven bodies
holding guns to their heads
as they **** down a coffee
right after getting no sleep for the millionth night in a row
so they can go to work and contribute to society

Society that is cutting-edge
Society that is the greatest yet
Society like a train with broken brakes
Humans like robots

These are silhouettes
with their souls ripped out of them
These are dead bodies
murdered

It's funny. They say with progression comes ease of life. However, this has not proved to be true.
Straight A's? Check. But a 97 on a test tanks my average since it's currently at 100.
Working out every day? Covered. But now that I've lost so much weight my clothes don't fit.
Internships? Got them. But the work they're taking leaves me exhausted and unable to maintain the idea of finding a job right now because I haven't the time.

Success is great. But don't ever let them tell you that there isn't a bad side. Even relatively.

I just want an 85 to feel like a victory again, one day of working out to be enough to go out and get ice cream for, to be able to make money for myself.

But god, why does swimming feel like drowning?

Sweet lips and kind eyes
I'd sing you all the praises a man can
My Overworked Angel

touch soft and gentle
you radiant being
a feather against my body

warm and gracious is she
perfumed voice
enough to make me bloom

With every hour spent
In mindless work

My Resolve is weakened

With every strain
Black and blue bruise
Broken blister
And back ache

My Resolve is weakened

With every moment spent
In hunger pains

My Resolve is weakened

With every legal claim
And court issues

My Resolve is weakened

With every cold and lonely afternoon
Sun lost to this winter rotation
Finding friends far away

My Resolve is weakened

Weakened till I am beaten
And either my death or
The doldrums take me