without my
orchestrated routines
the chaos inside
my tainted mind
would unravel me
unto completion
i take no pleasure
from this
scraping by
to survive a life
that wants nothing
to do with me

quiet saturdays
spent sipping coffee
curled up with
sylvia as get dead
plays on low behind
the percolation
restless hands
yearning for her
yet all there is
in this misery of need
is the multi hued
slick of refractions

empty utterances of
love like stinging flies
raising beads of blood
drawing a swarm
sensing an easy feast
in chemcial despondency
the beams of light
swollen with ill intent
and i am one of the
dust motes floating
in a holding pattern
of lackadaisical malaise

my mechanical soul
taking comfort in
this repetition
worn joints squealing
as the haunting notes
of anxiety beckon
losing myself in
the murky depths of
caffeinated despair
tracing cartoon hearts
in the condensation
waiting for it all to end