Sunday, October 23, 2011

Anything

I don't like anything
The sports are just contrived masculinity, bottled and sold to the masses. 
Possessions root me to one location making sure no one steals them, oh how I grow to resent my shackles. 
I don't like anything
Nothing exists that I long for, spending night and day pondering how to obtain my prize. 
Except maybe a motorcycle to get the fuck out of here. 
I don't like anything
Starvation can be more pleasurable than indulgence.
Screaming rapture in the streets or bowing my head has always seemed pointless. 
I don't like anything
Even our secret dance in the dark is just calculations and formulas to me now.
Pouring my "soul' onto paper has grown tiresome for once.
I don't like anything
Besides tipping the bottle back and forgetting myself.

Worrying about running out, acquiring more, keeping my body from rejecting  it.
Every day I lose another piece of me as I forget who I am and become a shell of a person. 
Completely removed from myself, I am the third person view of a life not being lived. 

2 comments:

  1. I love the progression of this piece.

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  2. Thank you, Natalie. I'm glad someone reads my poetry and actually likes it.

    ReplyDelete