Prose Poetry -Rinse, Repeat

7 Sep

Sometimes I sit at work and negative thoughts rise like foam – flickering, without structure, so I cannot yank them away, and think, “not enough, not enough,” and everything that I am not rises before me with a murderous face, leaving me motionless – doubts rise with fear, and my own selfishness cackles at me for believing I am good because what is good anyway?

I want to drown in alcohol and male attention; I want to hang with vice –

And, within the mad calm is the eye, sitting on top of the pyramid – outside Self, laughing with mad disappointment at what life isn’t – at the pain of birthing anything, pushing forth, screaming against it’s own blinding being, as the light hits it harsh.

“Where is the redemption? Are we meant to plug in toil and start again? Am I the waking nightmare?” and so I breathe in consciousness within the babbling – and so I run, pounding feet against the pavement, and I gaze up at the trees pointing out what I don’t want to carry anymore – rinse, repeat, and begin again-

Until it’s all clean.

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