quiet the fool

he acts so tough but i watched him weep as she sang, after when she came out in her black dress looking so grown, he wept as he held her

the poor illiterate fool

he wonders why he is alone without seeing he is his own worst enemy

so sentimental, just an open book

no one wants a book that is no longer novel, that the pages are tear stained odes to a she he will never actually have a chance to hold

we need to end him

put ourselves out of his misery

send him to the farm where all the bad dogs go, where he can run free and chase dreams all day

euthanize the poor man’s poet

he’ll do it to himself eventually, he’s not getting better, i’m just biding my time

he is near delirious as is

i overheard him whisper before bed last night, a plaintive ode to the forces he knows don’t exist

i chuckled as he wheezed some half hearted prayer to the nothingness

it was nearly as bad as his rhymes

all we need is to give him just enough rope to hang himself with

a sliver of hope to slit his own throat

then silence

no more polluting the world of poetry with prosaic longing

he’s at the edge

just a little


quiet the fool and the world shall rejoice

just a matter of time


9 thoughts on “quiet the fool

      1. i so want to do that…but the broken artists are hard to capture. they slip away like whispers when i try to lure them. maybe i will just make some coffee & pretend i don’t want their company.

        Liked by 1 person

          1. or maybe it makes us that much more easily distracted by sparkly things…if only to prove to ourselves that all that glitters is not gold thereby reinforcing our bleak hopelessness. a morbid murder of desolate crows. (i might be over-thinking it, i am actively avoiding motherhood at the moment)

            Liked by 1 person

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