Living to die

life will be the death of me.
it’s simple.
life degrades upon conception.
the count down commences.
whittle what we may in
what we think, feel and be,
but time holds no exceptions.
the expenditure of time
influences its duration.
investments in pleasure
or pain doesn’t matter,
it’s of the same origin.
i will remember birth
as i will death.


Looking around at looking around

i don’t often look around,
but when i do,
i notice others looking around.
why do i look around?
why do they look around?
there are no predators near,
at least i hope not.
so why the eyes?
i’ve been grazing the same field,
yet, how things change when looking up.
the ground remains,
the sky is constant,
but this middle view,
how it changes.
it’s hard to eat from the ground
and keep one’s eyes level.
how can one admire the stars
while keeping track of what’s in front?

Wiping my gas

i can wipe my ass,
masterfully i might add,
with toilet paper,
but when it comes to
regular blank paper,
i’m blocked.
it’s like artist’s constipation.
i don’t want to continue to wipe
if it’s just going to leave me raw.
i don’t mind some things raw,
but my ass is not one of them.
there’s only so much shit
one can push until
it’s all just gas.

Drawing lines of crooked writting

i find it easier to write lines
rather than draw lines.
mind you,
one can write lines drawn.
being uneducated in the proper
use of language for expression,
i don’t take this seriously,
thus, i don’t sweat the mistakes.
being formally taught how to draw
a “proper” line
makes me anxious about
the possibility of mistake.
i shouldn’t worry, it’s true.
we all are trying to draw straight lines
with these slants that support our head.

Feelings of happy anger

they say it’ll get better,
and i’m sure it will.
but what do i know?
i’m resistant to change,
i’m closed off from the new.
i repeat my daily rituals,
it’s my habit.
i’d like to think my feelings
but when i do, they seem irrational.
don’t get me wrong,
i’m content, albeit it be fleeting,
i do, however, find that i’m
quick to anger.
what a waste of energy.
but like i said,
my rituals are my habit,
and being unopened to change,
the anger remains.

Just noticed i’ve got a gun.

i’ve got a gun.
although, i’m not sure whose it is.
i notice everyone around me
carry guns, presumably theirs.
i’m not sure if they use it,
or how they use it,
or even what they load it with?
where do they find their ammunition?
does someone give it to them,
do they steal it, or
do they buy it?
i see them carry
their guns to work,
to schools, to restaurants,
while driving in traffic,
during Sunday mass,
even on family vacation.
shots can be heard
in exchange for
power, money, ideals, beliefs.
since when did we all have guns
and the thought that because
we have one, we should use it?
all i know is,
i’ve got a gun.
one day i’ll shoot.
until then,
i’ll stick to using