am a light bulb swinging in a dark basement, the filament is tenuous and the next flip of the switch, surge of voltage could be the last, glowing a burnt sienna when once it was white hot illumination

a festering wound filled with maggots that no matter how ravenous can not eat the spoil away as the rivers of pus flow feverishly down blackened skin, cracked and brittle to touch

a yellowed photograph of false smiles and hidden scars, of smiles and the illusion of all is okay, there’s nothing to see here but what you see here and that is nothingness as well, the quiet madness of family

am laughing at another thinly veiled joke about nihilistic tendencies, the suicide door that opens into the oncoming traffic of nevermore, of never will, honking horns and the slap of feet on pavement running to a forever that never lasts

of all the things i am, it is the things i am not that drift sleeplessly through the vacant adoration and graceless sputter of another dreamless night of restless blanket entanglement

a bed of nails and a pillow filled with broken glass, an undershirt of ceiling insulation, a head of ill fitted conceptions, and set to sail in a rickety boat that leaks on an ocean of fire

a human cannonball fired into the sky at the stars that twinkle behind the heavy clouds, kinetic and frenetic waste of gunpowder, the scribbles on the margins, poorly drawn whims of boredom

the applause given mistimed at a pause as the true meaning was to build anticipation and the crowd begins heading for exit while the floundering fool attempts to draw them back in for last hurrah

the last repressed gasp of the depressed riddled with ancillary solutions to the all too real problems

i am less than the sum of my parts, a photocopy of a sketch from memory drawn by untrained hands on the back of a receipt blown off the table and left to hang in a chain link fence left sodden in the rain

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