bob mould sings
about everything falling
apart in a
two minute burst
of midwest angst
that sums up
the wicker armor
haphazardly constructed
around my fractured
misconception of
accepting all the blame
for slights i wasn’t
even aware existed

i feel as if i am
little more than a piece
of anthropomorphic trash
floating alongside
the seashore ruining
the scenic view of the
happy people enjoying
a nice picnic with
their loved ones
a noxious cloud repelling
the ones i hold dear
unable to see how i
poison the air with my
unwanted presence and
i cannot find any value
in myself as they shrink
farther and farther away

the aftereffects of
the knowledge i was never
expected nor wanted
the cold arm’s length
at which i was always held
have made it far too easy
for the disregard in which
i find myself given by
the heaping shovel loads
feels as if it is all i
am entitled to receive
and more than i deserve
even as i try my damnedest
to establish the value
i give to others should
be given back to me as well

bob mould sings
a two minute burst of
midwest hardcore about
everything falling apart
and it feels like this
effervescent failure
that fills my chest is
just a symptom of
wanting more from a
world that only knows
how to take the lion’s share
as my wicker frame
disintegrates and i find
i am ill prepared
to handle another day

i think i will drive
in silence all day today
it isn’t as if i have
much of a choice at all