Monday, October 5, 2015


Immersed, surrounded by plastic,
Told over and over
To snap out of it
As if it didn't exist,
Making me sick,
Striking me like a stick,
And cracking me like a whip.

The drugs work like umbrellas,
Blotting out the sunshine,
Blown inside out in the storm,
Blasted like the shrapnel
From a land mine.

And Hamlet's soliloquy
Ruins every escape plot.
There's always another excuse,
Apologies obligatory,
An email awaited,
A phone call coming,
A random possibility
From another dimension,
And the terror and the fear
Beyond all comprehension

Always there is the guilt -
Punishment for every time
I decided what's best for me,
Penalties for another's crime,
Friendships lost
On the monocline of decline.
There's so much space for more remorse
In a mind that stretches with every regret
And files failures in display stands
So that I can never ever forget;
While achievement is consigned
To an archive where I'm blind.

How laughable are my rhymes,
So crude my boring story lines,
Read by no one but me,
Understood by even fewer.

We all need a cliché today.
If you haven’t got one – or some –
Then get one – or some –
They’ll go a long way,
So they say.
Much better than being original
Or saying something visional.

And this came to me,
Although not in a vision,
Nor by way of the voices' sounds,
Just this, and no more,
On the shark-ridden shore
Of the nevermore -
There is no reason to live
When there are no grounds
On which you want to live.

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