Satire of a burn out

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Again I find I lack words, accurate words, for this "distinct" tar pit I feel submerged. This abyss of comfort/extreme agitation. I've forgotten what it's like to breathe, I define waste. I define idle. Brain sludge like mucus, halting my inspiration. Dull. I feel dull. Treat me like scum, scum is what I am, for submiting to something horrible. Stop giving them what they want, sedated, good citzen. Without thoughts, without soul, without life. Totally oblivious to the world, totally oblivious to large portions of my own life. Playing the fool playing the fool, drunkenly stumbling over hot coals and broken glass. Blood loss Brain cells I dont care. Still land on my feet just to suck everything pure dry to dust and ash, rotting away everything which ripens in cynicism. Exhausted and sick, erotically spoon feeding myself poison, after poison, after poison. Tooth ache candy cures. Can see the problem, can sense the lure, indulge fish bite on fish the hooks penetration barely now stings. One lost soul lamely floating in a fish bowl, the only company his own tired feces. Inebriate, masturbate, sedate, scratch, suffocate, sleep, and seduce. Repeat. Shrivle into a dried out -
Burnt up -
Typical degenerate.
Nothing more to hear, less to say
Fell out of the race, and that's okay. Fine.
But the aching of stillness and quiet is a sick way to die...
Get up now.
Get up
GET UP

No.

november 13 2006