i can’t tell
if it is worry
or if i forgot
to eat today
but my stomach
is home to
the fires of
perdition as
i triple check
the double check
everything is
prepared for a
fiftieth check
in the morning

unable to concentrate
enough to do anything
except pick at scabs
and analyze my over
abundance of failings

just a ground butt
in a filthy ashtray
with god’s lipstick
painted on the filter
half smoked and then
callously forgotten
in the inferno of
lives turning to ash

life is so fucking
short yet there is
always time to be
miserable rather than
celebrating the
fragility of this
temporary awakening
from an eternity of
absolute nothingness

this is a diversion
a swarm of electricity
manipulating a
failing vessel into
a certain catastrophe
pulled along by
reactionary traits
toward ancillary stimuli
seeking meaning in
what is so clearly
a farcical disaster
to alleviate the
fleeting burden of being