increasingly
i just think
the poetry
saving all of us
the hassle
of typing out
blathering odes
i don’t even know
the meaning of
i just need something

you know
it’s all bullshit
but momentarily
dreams are everything
i am just so tired
of waking up

just tired
and no matter how
fucking honest
i strive to be
i am a liar
dying daily

an atheist
unless?

hello?

an atheist
who wants to
believe so badly
i don’t even believe
in myself

fuck

write on drugs, kids
expose yourself to
a captive audience of none
parade yourself about
a trained pig who fools
everyone except himself
into thinking he is
anything

at all

i worry constantly

that’s all
constantly

but i never contemplate
my place in things
i am the filmographer
you’re the star
i show up briefly
a smudge on the lens
distorted reflection

the only thing
i cannot imagine
is having no
imagination
and i think this
makes me a character
in my own narrative
but whee does that leave me

i was never here
just a fucking scar
on beauty
a skidmark on art