pushing up daisies

I’m so over every poet

Who writes about never ending love

Heartbreak

Sorrow

And all those

Cliché emotions

.. ..

I mean who are we kidding

Life is full of obsequiousness

Piacular objectives

And just general

Continual

And utter ennui

.. ..

It’s all vacant stares

And void decisions

At every turn

There are signs and symbols

And meaningless phrases that we spatter

And mutter

To cover up our blank internals

.. ..

Oh yeah im fine

Whos fine

The worlds fine?

Destructions fine?

Your low morale is fine

Bullshit

.. ..

That’s all it is

Bullshit

That’s what we feed ourself

Lies

Complete lies

Or half-truths

Silencing non-traumatic

Borderline pathetic

And empty experiences that generate from years

Behind some ikea desk

With some fat, slobby guy

With a doughnut

Shouting at you to keep it up

Or work harder

.. ..

That’s a good one

Work harder.

Ha

All we ever do is work

Is crawls inside and eats our passion

Like parasites sucking our blood

Our life

Out of us

So we are left with some

Rueful, useless and lamentable shell

Of what used to be joy

.. ..

But who cares right.

Life all fun we say

Lifes all great

So why not live a life of deception

Excessive piteous gestures

And poor doleful relationships

.. ..

Why not eh?

.. ..

That’s what we want.

Well that what the poets say

Name me one poem that doesn’t end in a death?

.. ..

Even this one does

through painful, placid regression

We ourselves

Are pushing up daisies.