at least

pretend to be interested.

Because stories aren't as plentiful as squash and strawberries.




the beast

he had entered sideways into a show that'd already started.


at least

the words placed on our family mantle top had showed
that life is a locomotive that will never stop.

sheesh.

aggravation only does little in order to shift
my opinion from one place to another.


wish,

pessimism only places a knackered placard on top of my well earned toothy veneers I had held on layaway.

Yucky,

yack, not ever.

Sorry,

I had no intention of going back.

Boiling Boiling Boiling.

Rolling caustic water.

Boil.


Boil.


Burn up the most peaceful thing.


Wait for them.


And boil them in water.

Do it.

Do the most hateful thing.

Turn the kindest element in the world into a cauldron full of slaughter.

I had a huge *** of sugar water boiling overnight.

After several days, the police knocked on my door

for several nights to ask if I was alright.



I wasn't, of course.

But what could be said?


They didn't care.

They were just concerned if I was dead.

I placed a layer of salt

on the edge on my ceiling to ensure

that I would not wake up

to gallons of flooding little faults

that had very little to do with me.



I set up shop in order to protest

the last part of a legislative article.


I had died several days ago, but my
farcical sense of humor had bemused
and encumbered me to the point that I would
never could what I had, because I hate myself
and I feel bad.

Instead I popped up a hopeful hopperfull of plenty of popcorn
smothered in butter and unsolicited carbs.

It's living large,
because now I know I'm not starving.

And turns out that just because I'm not unhappy or thriving
means that life is worth living,

and it's nothing.

Not worth my time to wonder and marvel at the life of other people.

I had invested thousands of dollars into my
next door neighbor's renovation.

Patience and promise of a hard earned vacation
were mentioned and that presupposed the notion
that every evening I had since boiled away hadn't been for nothing.

Nodding as I exited out the front door cradling the exterior of my shameful severance package had only applauded

the stewy ingrates and laid laurels and lauded all the lazy baffoons,

who instead of working, had eschewed a barrel of monkeys,

boiled their bones, placed them in my lap, and then had the audacity

to ask me to throw them away.

Okay.

It's not like I read and never got scared.

I acted like I never really care, because who could really care?

Make a ten-year old stare at lifetime of suffering.

**** that guilt.

I'll stuff them in the ignorant ring,

of scared human beings having to look at the future of their suffering.

Instead I'd read, and rather bring enjoyment.

Either that or I have to act like I don't feel.

Either that or I have to steal a bit of my hearty healthy soul

and make it into to fuel.

To use up all my energy.

To pour my life into a bowl that will blow,

BLOW UP, and ****.

Just so I can feel strong in the face of those that will never be.

What would happen if the smartest dude you ever knew had gargled half of glass of alkaline work, and half asinine notions?


What would it make?

A potion of well-constructed posited positions based on logic?

Or a self-constructed swamp bewailed in muddy air the had never even shared the point of life and joyment?

Instead the swamp was employed by devils deployed to only stack up and foster self-hatred?