A Poet At Work
(The following is another collaboration of notes/thoughts/feelings I had while at work. Interpret your own meaning. Enjoy.)
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Someone decided long ago that certain social cues were solitary structures, Soldiering on for our scientific soliloquy of consciousness,
And they left me out.
In this survival state,
I don’t live day to day,
I live moment of consciousness to moment of consciousness,
Like dreaming while walking awake,
In the land of witches.
Travel is a hell of a thing,
Living life as a form,
Dream to dream,
Breath to breath,
Mile by mile,
Until some kind of destination arises.
Across time,
Across people,
Across America,
Across the sea.
America was always a land of opportunity to game the system,
And hugs go a long way.
So I find myself in the delicate balance,
Of customer service and artistic implosion,
Chasing the dollar while dreams cry out as they evaporate.
I’m tired of hot gas as friendships and fraternization over small talk,
However,
There is no solution,
There is no goal,
There is no future,
There is only no.
Yes,
Feels like lies and as useful as defecation,
No is obviously an undesirable defeat.
I want people to say…. Something I can’t think of.
The only question left is;
How much longer do I want to stay in the fog of frustration?
I’m frustrated by my lack of answers,
So I destroy bits and pieces of myself,
Of my world,
Not enough to notice,
But enough to fall apart.
I have no answers to my problems,
So I go to day dreams,
About free punching bags of people,
Dumpsters of dissatisfaction and indifference,
My friends become this,
The guilty burden follows suit.
Fear doesn’t really go away,
It doesn’t get any easier,
It doesn’t grow,
It doesn’t die,
Fear is only a permanent part of you,
To get rid of fear,
Would be to break you,
To use fear,
Would be to inspire you.
At my capitalist daycare there are tasks I can do,
And tasks where I struggle,
I justify my ignorance by going above and beyond,
To compensate for my believed failures.
Have you ever been on the verge of tears,
You hear the laughter of your co-workers,
Echoes play devastatingly in your head,
Glimpses of anything easier than this.
Enticing people into my trap,
Desperately warning people to stay away.
I’m past imposter syndrome,
Imposter implies there is a hidden truth underneath,
There is no truth,
No soul.
I am an amalgamation of thousands of separate experiences,
There is no core,
No focus.
There is only the show,
My show,
A show that must forever go on.
