Submission to Reality (My Tribute to Insomnia)
It is the plague of thought
and I can't catch my breath
or shake this constant quake
of what people want from me
What I beat out of myself
And I am so tired of crazy
So damned tired
and I still can't sleep
Spinning in to the oblivion
of grinding it all out
and trying to make sense
when it's all nonsense
And thinking all the happy people
are just faking it
Posers trying to get envied
enough to conjure up self worth
And I might be the only one
who is not lying to myself
with the scapegoat mind-fuck
of tomorrow will be differents
Why does it matter when
my eyes shut and I still see the room
beating through my black lids
and begging for sleep to come
but it never does
Just the constant clanking of life wheels
Hoping to hell they'll rust and seize
But fate is a nasty bitch
with an oil can
and I am slipping deeper
in to myself
Pretty soon I'll be so far in
that nobody will be able to find me
Night to day tonight
and still, no peace
fleeting moments
a resounding silent night
and I'm tired of my own company
and sick of a hundred cable channels
with nothing at all to watch
tick
tock
the bastard clock reminding me
I'm behind the curve
and my edge is dulling
and all my expectations
once were hopeful, but
became this thing I race
knowing I will never win
I try to soothe myself
a hot bath to cleanse guilt
a glass of wine to wash down
the success I tried to bite
but choked on
every minute less likely
to find
this "it"
I've been searching for
there aren't enough excuses
to raise the bar
I lowered on my standards
what's wrong with taking my time
in the end
tick
tock
I am waiting to discover
what's waiting at the end
TICK-
TOCK-
when the clock stops
Monday
I woke up pissed at the alarm
the whaling sound of another morning
that came too early
rush to the shower
rush to work
rush hour
(what's the rush?)
read the obituaries over coffee
half expecting to see my name
dead tired of the monotony
the grind of penance
for crimes I didn't commit
fallen grace?
I didn't eat the fucking apple
shaking off the Sunday guilt
I am supposed to feel
and settling in to another Monday
half alive
why I don't go out anymore
I sat on the barstool
watching the flies pile on shit
wondering what appeal there is
to pretense
the penny whore in a push-up bra
worked the bartender for a free drink
I sat in the choke hold of the smoke canopy
as techno music(?)pulsed
and sweaty snakes in shiny polyester
wrapped around thighs
looking for a hole
insecurity wore name brand jeans
and press on nails
and arrogance hid his insecurity
in a shot glass of cheap whiskey
and makeshift poets
tried to finesse an invitation home
and I remembered why
I don't go out anymore
Scrub
he is hiding
behind the bullshit
of other people's excuses
for the balls dropping
saggy fuckers
from under use
and an overworked mind
needing tortured
for the artist
lets nothing in
without great strain
and a price
I tried
to pay
he says my money
isn't worth shit
claims I don't respect
and keeps constricting
the reconstruction
of weakened defenses
I'd like to get close
enough to put my
lips
and
tongue
where it is dirty
and wash away
his pain
Living Portrait
Remember the night you loved me
My back to the wall
Hung like a piece
Of some obscure artwork
In the hallway
Of your campus house
You weren't a student
But I learned
About myself
Giving over to your whispers
Swaying grass
And the Indiana summer's
Cornfield fresh breeze
Pushing
Through the open window
I didn't care
If sin lived there
As I pressed against
Your walls
Pressed my walls
Loving every tap
That held me there
Who needs the Mona Lisa
Star Spew
Seeding of life DNA
In the universe through
Some advanced society
Star spew
Darwin choked
Upchucked youth
Needing some assurance
Big Bang; Creation
Maybe everyone's got it right
Night is still black
Humans still uptight
Feeble minded
Suckling humans
Begging lazily for tit
For tat
To endure as drones
Seeding DNA of life
