The double coffee betrayal.
What was the name of that girl,
Where is my next job,
I need money.
How much time have I wasted today and every day
Where will I be next year
When will I get to where I want to be
I was told yesterday
Despite anything I say.
I base myself on someone else.
Peer groups. Expectation.
Things I hold dear.
The clothes I wear.
People I associate with.
Goals I wish to achieve.
The direction I’d like to take my life.
Well fuck that.
Hang that unpoetic life-drained thought from my cock.
Let it dry in the raw, cold, unforgiving Tasmanian sun.
I am the master of my fate.
Do I have a knot in my head.
What next? Can I somehow force the issue?
Can I be comfortable and just reside?
spend “WEEKS” in bed.
Where do I find my next gem.
My next clue.
Pearl of wisdom.
The feeling that I could be more.
Am I the only one feeling like this?
That counting weeks is idiocy.
Mondays are bad days?
I have a finite amount of days
I’m trying to look after myself all the while feeling dull.
Why must I flirt with these four letter words.
Give me a task, my unrest is depressing.
Let me follow the sun.
A long string of bows,
Skills, aptitudes, abilities and experiences.
Living in a time of plenty
Heaped up beside me-
too many the occasion
This “plenty”… of shit!
These cactus ideals that survive when they should wither,
and despite the tears of humanity that come in floods
distorted. We can hear, but no sense is made.
Like my words. The ideas have swept away from me
Waiting for the sun i’ve wept. Now I wait to see.