in search of the buried clean bottom feeders

why haven’t my sights caught on? i already know the anticipated struggle of finding a self. a climb before the jump. the antagonizing bully who’s waiting for your walk home from school. the peering hallways. the largest man. heckling your name, on your way to the stage to accept your beloved prize. his firing squad prematurely blowing their wads. the color of embarrassment splattered on the walls; the color of your skin, revealed. 

i’ve been there before. with them. my shame knew its way around. heartlessly climbing the ladder. only now seeing the ditch. of the hole we all made. hunting the innocent and buying up all the land to destroy. a life worth living.

gray streets from all the dirt the carbon copies made. 

i’m tired of myself in this city. the same routes around. a plateaued love. knowing a home. the only fears coming alive in dreams. the force of outside while i’m locking the doors from within. safely asleep. forgiving the still. 

 

i need to remove myself from all your perforated pasts. and your god-fearing futures, fucking time numb. 

 

where are the stages without any purpose? who’s got tickets to that show? 

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One thought on “in search of the buried clean bottom feeders

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