i have bled
everyday for
five years
polluting the
æther with my
incessant odes
to cages crafted
by helping hands
wondering when
the next verse
will be my last
as i rot away
in a parking lot
unnoticed for
days until
someone complains
about the stench
or has my car
towed to free up
the parking space
another statistic
in a city of
wasted efforts
where the dreams
of better tomorrows
lay shattered on
the overpasses
that lead to a
series of one way
stories with the
dead endings that
come from minimizing
oneself to take the
sting from when
others gleefully
do it for sport

i never became
whoever it was that
i was going to be
unless fate chose
loneliness cut off
from the world
i only view from
the tinted windows
secured by insecurities
taunted by the
certain uncertainty
of electrified
anxietal agonies
and if that’s the case
i really need to
speak to the manager
because the service
has been quite
frankly subpar
and the amenities
are fucking neglectful
and that’s being
awfully polite

the best parts of me
took the lashes of
those plastic hangers
or were spilled out
to be ignored wholesale
leaving whatever
this mess is supposed
to be bleeding out
in a parking garage
on montfort street
writing about cages
in an avalanche of
anonymous depressions
minimizing myself
until i cease to exist
to save the world
the time and trouble
the true statistical
anomaly being how
i managed to make it
this long chasing
clouds of dreamdander
blissfully into oblivion