Will Remain Untitled

The world I am barely alive in

makes of me the reluctant martyr,

 

or maybe it makes me like Sisyphus

with blunders and deceits

 

only damaging to myself, so I can only brace

myself for the rock to hit, or maybe,

 

the rocks are in my pockets

when I take the longest walk i-

 

n Misery Bay.  I make a life stealing

what I can.  Early, I learned if I don’t become

 

a skilled thief I’m as good as

dead.  At this crossroads, what is life

 

anyway but banal platitudes we all harbor

a secret hatred for but participate in

 

anyway, because like herded goats,

we don’t know anything

 

else?  Move with the herd, or die

under hoof and foot.  Even

 

though, I am not done with this

life of trauma and suffering I have

 

been given, I cannot join the helpless

herd being corralled mindlessly

 

in this direction and that.  I won’t play

the martyr. I have to ask

these questions of myself

 

to myself, is it even possible

to leave the pestilence behind

 

us, and just admit we don’t know shit?

 

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