Sink Sink

I give up; closing shop; pull the chain; lock the gate

Let the roaches and wasps build their nests

Load up the joint with the brood

The blood coagulated into a burnt crust charcoal clot

Burn the pyre and let the picture frames go

Do not want to start over; just want to be done

Hope if this was meaningless then the whole is meaningless

Flowers, birds, sea life, are all dead to me now

I used up too many of my metaphors on a living muse

And I do not even want to write; that’s dead too

It’s all dead, just withered vines and gum wrappers

Mucking up every step like a foul stench of mint and shit

Knowing I was born preferring the shit because at least

Most people would agree it was bad

Rather than the pretend sugar theater

Claw me out the daylight and plant me in a midnight

This heart like a tulip bulb praying for a trigger winter

To get out of this year alive before I run this car right into a tree

And the fingers cannot even click the writer’s blood letting

Rapture in hope; to hope so hard and hear the laughter

Holding a mirror up to my mouth to test the frost

Swallowed like an immolated vessel praying that there is more than this

More than this flame smoldering out from my skin

As the only thing keeping the darkness at bay

These metaphors and spirits circled overhead like a drain

To the positive connotations of a heaven I imagine in equal perniciousness

Like a neutralized atomic indifference we participate justifying

The happiness of those by the unhappiness in these

Blessed are the meek and suffering for they will inherit the Earth

Best sales pitch ever and I’m done buying

Trying for the surface just sink to the bottom with this stomach full of coal

Rationalizing that the rise is impossible for an entirely different reason