I've been comparing the likelihood
of one piece bathing suit owners turning down
Reece's cups,
to a fair chance at understanding
the bumbling, mumbo jumbling, mindlessly gossiping,
festering fuck offs that surround me.
I guess I am not the only one that enjoys eggs at 3am.
So here I am
trashed like the calendar of every squandered day,
soaked in a cold hard sweat of impulsiveness
aimlessly striving like the upkeep of a virgin daughter
for the promises that are never again.
Stop right there!
I'll wait here
I came for the scorching hot sting
of decaf that makes my tongue feel like sand paper,
the comforting sound of dishes, dirty and clean,
colliding recklessly,
And all of the people gabbing away about the truths
the fallacies, the underprivileged , the highly revered.
the rich and all the rest.
The groups of late teen boys surfing the remains of their
adolescence in discussions of the bible's most vulnerable holes,
to the stressed out husbands and wives wrinkling each other's craniums with
heated arguments involving their mortgage, in-laws and children.
to the silent lies spoken between a nave young couple that still
think they have their whole lives ahead of them to spend together,
to the giggling groups of girls wading in the joys of trivial matters,
to the practice of my perseverance as I await my next refill..
What is acceptable,
you ask?
Who gives a shit?!
I answer.
Eggs at 3am.
A great escape from the
'I wanna dip my breasts in it'
mentality of the strip clubs
A hopeful alternative to the
'I will blacken your eyes and knock your teeth out'
hostility of the dive bars
Or a nice coffee break from the
'Leave it to me, you're worthless'
sentiments of the church.
We've got everyone here.
They all look the same to me.
Like a 1940's photograph of the meatpackers union.
within a short sequential scroll of a 1950s cartoon,
still bearing the delusional and care free attitudes of the 1960s
yet burned out and restless like the 1970s.
All copying the aboriginality and clueless minds of the 1980s
where it was easy to dip delicious lollipops into toilet talk,
resorting to the malevolence and greed of the 1990s where
one can get his ass beaten by a gang leader with braces.
How come they are all stuck on the short bus of the 21st century?
And all we have left to look forward to are the
prayers fallen on deaf ears
our unanswered dreams
the screaming explanations
and soaring exclamations.
Numerated blessings
and degenerate fascinations....
What are they all looking at?
I am not the extra that never gets laid in
the late night soft-core pornos.
I am not the game show contestant jumping up
and down in excitement over a new car.
I am not the man in the background of a 10 minute
workout video vigorously shifting his hips and pumping his fists.
What do you want exactly?
A fucking refill would be nice.
And how am I supposed to eat this?
I'm sandwiched in between an old woman
that can't wipe well enough
and covers their funk with white shoulder
whale spunk, and another insect of a woman
that has to flip through 1800 pages of advertisements
consisting of drugged, bronze-grazed still-whores in scandalous
clothing to learn that one can reach an orgasm faster by fucking without
a rubber.
Why do we bother?
We will never be satisfied with who we are,
what we look like
or what we do,
because of our own and each others
judgmental nature orchestrated
by the overpowering influence of the media we created.
Even those that we are supposed to idolize
are mere shadows of the world's ultimate failure.
So we ruthlessly berate them too.
We're always over-stressed and rarely find a moment's time
to relax, exhale and rest.
Every sign of love and affection is reciprocated by
the pain, hatred, jealousy and misery that always follows.
We're always in danger of losing everything we've got in this
world of bureaucracy, despite the security that the majority of us
buy into.
Outsourcing, downsizing, cost cutting, war waging, senseless killing...
Buttfucking, cocksucking.......
We want to resign from our bullshit lives,
digress from our banal lifestyles,
yet we never look to the poorer quarters
where the grief makes more sense.
We will never stop hiding behind the tiresome rationale
that society is fucked
and out from within those clinical and cynical proclamations
to take responsibility for our own fucking actions.
Like a stained Sunday dress,
we're blemished by something awful
yet blessed like all the rest.
The urine sample is always half full.
Someone please tell me why I shouldn't shit myself
in this bathroom stall
Are you for real?
No, are you fucking kidding?
-MyX
|
Submission Name: Breathalize Everyone
