Quite simply
I don’t care
lingering here
I stay, not listening
watching the world fall
I wear apathy nicely
it hangs right upon shoulders
and let the day build up
piling up around me
enjoy a cigarette
as I watch everything decay

So you sate your inadequacies
With excuses and those poems
And you pretend that tomorrow you will be better
But you are unstirring from your heart
And the stagnant puddle you call your life
It is your air, what once was bitter

Complacence takes hold and you watch
That view from the window forever the same
Sunsets and seasons blurring in the horizon
One more hour, another sleepless night
An unfinished day and muted uneasiness
Is this apathy the only thing you rely on?

“Life drains my enthusiasm away bit by bit”
You complain, and to refuse reality
You firmly repeat it like a charm
But you know, one heartbeat away
One step further from where you fell last
Will crash into your illusion of calm

Numb your conscience with art
Devour everyone else’s talent
And take nothing but tears from their story
Leave truths to dent your steel façade
Yet bury yourself in denial
Safe, shielded, in your delusional glory

Bleeding heart, battering in its cage
Its screams drowned under ****** veins
It’s scary silent, your shell
You’ve locked down hard
Your defences caked with dreamland dirt
Too sturdy for reality to fell

Search like a madman for something
To ease the voice of discomfort
Try to bind it to a letter
And so you sate your inadequacies
With excuses and this poem
And swear that tomorrow you will be better.

I wear too many long sleeves,
and my eyes are just red from allergies.
I’m always somewhat full even though
the weight keeps dropping and my
stomach protests. I was going to stay in
anyways and that beer was just for the chili.
The weird smell in the air is just from the neighbors.
It’s just water in my bottle and that rattle
was just from some bath salts. I use those lighters
just for work, yes, I was just on the phone with my boss.
The music is loud just for the ambiance.
My face is just puffy in the mornings
and I was up late last night just playing some games.
Those fans are just because it’s hot up here
and that bag has just pens in it.

O timeless sloth, I must with thee abide,
Let it be not to my own destruction.
Another life from me thou must divide,
Say to me t’was of mine own instruction!

I cling desperately to thine branches
I must weather the slings and arrows of
Most untimely sharp commands, and blanches
At my staunch resoluteness thereof.

Cease! Cease! See not the moss amongst my hairs,
Nor my talon-like nails, still, motionless.
Judge not, entwined as thou art in bland affairs
In your gray monuments to boastfulness

For nothing is equal to nothing.
To mime futile work is all but bluffing.

Why would any man wish to carry ambition? Motivation? Drive? When he can come lay here by my side. And only worry about the falling leaves from the trees outside. He can hide under the covers, and be as warm as he likes. Don't worry about the future, don't worry about the past, don't worry about the present. Just Lie here and rest. Rest, and dream, dream about all your life could have been. Dream about the ideal life, and live in it. All without the work. Isn't it better? Up in your head? aren't your dreams living better? Lets live together. In your head.

eating fast food as I watch you wear your old Hawaiian t shirt you adopted from the bottom of a bin at the local thrift shop because everything has always been comfort over style and you can't change now
a fry falls onto the lap of my thighs and you ask me when the last time was I used my kitchen floor for dancing instead of pacing around but my mind falls short into the drops of condensation sweating into a couch that I hate sometimes and admire for the sturdy way it always manages to **** up my back
I'm already what I want to be but I pretend that I throw around my identity like a knick-knack hacky sack and I'll always blame you for the aftershock effect of feeling like I've been spun in a tumbler and left to be drunk by the gnats you breed by never throwing old fruit away

If tomorrow I awoke in a hospital room
To be told I'd been in a coma for most of my life
I know I'd ask for five minutes more
Because this dream has left me
So tired, so exhausted
Even if its all just been a long sleep
It hasn't been long enough

A pass between
the ceiling stints,
ivy sinews,
and unhinged bricks.
The broken glass
still shifts and cracks
in narrow steps
of a time passed.

Streams of oil,
weaving between,
to a seamless,
tar and fissure,
smoke clouds pummel,
passing stranger,
surging street lights,
to the waves of.

On the edge of
the coming rain,
consignment times
as beauty lies.