another one about wasted potential

darkness encroaches
be it my vision
finally failing me
or whatver lurks just
beyond the last vestige
of sputtering light
i cannot quite tell
every hair has stood
on end for as long as
i can remember
since the moment i woke
if waking is what occured
there is no way to tell
as my pulse thunders in
my aching fucking skull
just the understanding
that whatever is out
amidst the swirls of
abstract nothingness
is likely going to be
the end of an unknown poet

when i was younger
a child still filled up
with piss amd vinegar
when my spit didn’t taste
like batteries and metal
when dreams happened in
waking hours and the
world was ripe for a
too smart kid with one
helluva collection of scars
bruises in shades of
vibrant purple with hints
of grotesque greens
i knew i would one day
run this entire place

as life extracted the cost
it takes from every unwary
soul thrust upon existence
without the common decency
of asking if this kind of
long term commitment to
keep a failing form somewhat
mobile while ingesting the
needed vitamins while trying
to ingest as many ilicit
experiences before it all
slowly goes to pieces
dreams became glimpses soon
forgotten as coffee and anxiety
flood the early morning haze
and i didn’t have nearly
enough ability to run my
own pathetic excuse for a
life in a never stopping plane
of half existing in stasis

and as the darkness swallows
each photon of light before
leaving me cold and alone
beneath six feet of hastily
shoveled dirt on top of a
bargain coffin that leaks
water from busted sewage lines
into the synthetic nearly
authentic silk that lines
the last bed to support my
cavernous head as it leaks
the stagnant remains of a
once lively ocean of words
i realize that the thing out
beyond the fading light
is that child watching as
his dreams die one by one
and i am gladful for the
blindness that blankets
my view of his dismay at
what he will one day become

4 thoughts on “another one about wasted potential

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