Foraging through motivations —
Faded, yellowed, half-forgotten,
Trying to find the strength
To carry on.

Sanity dubbed and subbed,
Chanting ethos like a mantra —
Drowning out estranged reason’s
White noised foreign language.

The irony of
Granted time
Consuming precious shelf life —
Dignity a price too steep,
A bridge too far.

Optimism can only
Go so far —
What can you do
When life keeps giving you
Rotten lemons?

The road ahead
Is paved and owned.
Favors only last so long
Without funds,
Without friends,
Without family —
And the toll is steep.

Souvenir vice
And collectable sin —
Don't diss it ‘till you've tried it.
One taste,
And I'll be serving you again.

There's a substantial line
Between sarcasm and assholery,
Which often correlates
With intellect.

Happiness is not a constant,
Nor is it a given.
Swim,
Dive deep,
Ride time's currents,
Grasp those moments
Where you find them —
But remember,
This is not a game of
Win at life.

Fractured potential,
A species at pasture —
Growing fat on
The last remaining riches
Of a long lost golden age.

I'm doing quite well,
Thank you very much.
Positivity at rock bottom —
I've got a piss bucket
Full of sunshine,
And two cotton wads
To block the smell.

Resolute
To save a world
Beyond healing,
Wearing masks to keep
The sickness in.

Give and take
The humane way —
Listen to reason,
Then reason to live.

Kept within our demographics,
God forbid we break the mold —
Happiness a mere statistic,
More a median than a goal.

Counting bullets from the trenches,
Willing the world to sleep —
Silent night, holy night,
Stars above, grant us peace.

A thousand times rewritten;
Yuletide,
Winter solstice
Christmas,
Festival of light.
Yet, the sentiment remains —
Comfort in darkness,
Regardless beneath which
Politics, religion, ideology
It hides.

Chaos born,
What is change, truly?
We thought the world
An unfair place —
Of privilege,
Of prejudice.
Little did we show.

White pills changing color,
Switching voices for the pain,
Never altering its loudness —
Transposed, remixed, orchestrated,
Yet, my body screams
The same.

Religion?
Heating prefab dinners
In otherwise unused kitchens.
It feeds, sure.
But a meal
Should be so much more.

Hot and cold
Pain incandescent,
Sharp and dulling
Signals blinding —
Binding, begging,
Leaving me incapable
To act.

The art of
Suggestion,
Persuasion,
Control —
Do as you like,
So long it’s within
The confines
Of what you've been told.