Tuesday, May 3, 2016

Taking the Hint

I always thought
the end of us
would be loud and angry,
the sharp blades of heated argument
cutting us to the quick,
a volcanic quarrel leading
to nothing but pain and ash.

It would seem though
that this isn't the case this time,
you memories of me relegated
to hazy, smoked-out vignettes
or venomous vitriol vented
out of a lovesick throat,
roars of passion pared down
to hoarse piecemeal croaks
as halfhearted as you
usually were to me.

you finally neglected me
into going away for good,
no more having to lie to me,
no more cringing from my kisses,
your wish is my command
so I will get left behind
like so many other men
not "good enough"
to be a good fit,
except this time
unlike so many others
I think I'm finally okay with it.

Sunday, August 23, 2015

The Sacrificial Lamb

"You gotta make de sacrifice" -My asshole coworker.

I appreciate the whole
"hang in there, kitty"
motivational poster rhetoric,
it's so easy for people
who don't work to tell you
to do more from the tops
of their high and mighty horses
whilst I shovel all the shit.

I am so tired of
this double standard shell game
at wage slavery,
where what's good for the goose
poisons the gander and then
he's gotta fly many miles
without complaining because
he's the rookie and for some reason
in life, hating and hazing the newest recruit
makes sense instead of spending time
making sure they are trained,

God forbid I make a mistake
then it's a browbeating from the boss,
another black mark against my name,
like an annoying cluster of dug-in burrs
because the few fuck-ups are the only thing
anyone ever seems to remember.

The Predator

I dreamt of killing last night.

I enjoyed it.

Reveling in blood, crime, and fear,
I imagine this is how wolves feel,
gaining excitedly on the footfalls
of frightened prey,
sharp weapons held expectantly,
ready for the rush from murder

it shook me upon waking,
not because I was scared
of my viciousness bared,
because I enjoyed their pain,
their blood,
their fear,
their choked pleas for mercy,
fell lightly on deaf ears.

The Untouchable Diva

I am a sick fool
the Goddess of Destruction
will never just love

Expecting sorry
or the quenching rain of her
pure adoration

is a sad child's game
she craves unstable madness,
a rough grasp of pain

seeks abusive hooks
despite pleas for firm respect
they are all just lies

a stern refusal
from past trauma to heal up
from the rape of life

a real rake on her
mind, body, heart beaten and scarred
freezing her life hard

so much so frozen
when you can be inside her
but never reach her

leaving me wanting
not to save her through support,
but to just see her.

Sunday, July 12, 2015

Virtual Saikei

Sad and jealous spectator,
how long will you grit
your teeth on the sidelines
watching the online glory
of others similarly
swirling in an electronic vortex
of adulation and image management?

We love to trim
our social media bonsai
to hide the gnarled roots
of what is underneath,
but when you living for likes,
to uphold your internet glamour
what or who is real anymore?

Sunday, July 5, 2015

The Servant Laments

You will all miss me
when I'm gone.

Who will console you
when beloved trash is treating you like trash?

When your favorite backup plan
isn't around to pinch hit for your cherished men?

What will you do then?

What will you do when your drug intermediary
ain't so gladly merry to help your chemical need to escape?

Who will do for you then?

Who will soothe your ills
when everyone backs off?

Who will come around for you then?

Who will be there for you
as I stay deep in my den,

stirring only for the people
who remember me beyond being a means to an end?

Who will care for you then?


I just want to be taken care of
not even aware of
the heavy saddle draped between
weary shoulder blades,
torturing myself with
social media maelstroms
melting away sense with resentment
causing a sore head
whilst I watch my friends
have fun while I work
through mine in many mines
barely consoling myself
by thinking the grass is
always greener in other people's lives

I am tired of holding the pickaxe
representing the social pact
that says if you work
yourself to death,
you might be rewarded
with mortal and divine respite
all I get is vicarious vomit
from watching others get
to exit or exempt
themselves from responsibility
life's most ruthless despot.