Sunday, April 26, 2015

The Glass Friend

You all will miss me when I'm gone.

Who will console you
when 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 fuel your
chemical need for escape?

Who will do for you then?

Who will soothe your ills
after everyone else backs off
before obligation barks,
dragging out guilted service from them

Who will care for you then?

Who will 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 love you better than your glass friend?

The Mule

I just want to be taken care of,
not even aware of
the heavy saddle draped
in between my worn shoulder blades,
torturing myself with
social media vortexes
causing a sore head
as I see my friends
live life while I
work through mine in many mines

I am tired of holding the pickaxe
representing a social pact
that says
work to death and you might be rewarded
with a hard-earned respite,
instead I taste vicarious vomit
watching others get theirs
handed to them with little effort,
so I slave for responsibility:
life's most ruthless despot.