damaged goods

rolling over in burnt blankets of mistakes &

seething at the mere mention of the name that

echoes most recently through the maddened mind

like a gong being dragged through a city street

chained to the tail-end of a 4x4 that has no

particular place to go.

 

rotting in the bowl with mold all furry,

being torn apart by fruit flies & other insects making

new condos & apartments in the heart &

where does it end? 

as the wreckage piles up like old toys in the garage &

all the animals from the forest come in to make themselves

at home,

much like the flies & insects in the fruit bowl,

it suddenly seems like everything alive

is having more fun than the thinker that is

presently thinking.

 

pus forming in the infected cuts &

the bruises get bandaged again &

as one party runs clear out through the field

away from the other,

another connection is eradicated &

another individual gets one more notch towards

a lifelong complex.

 

the feeling that one is not good enough &

that one will never be good enough &

that one doesn’t deserve to be happy &

therefore one begins to learn to hate happiness &

then one begins to hate others who are happy &

then one begins to die inside watching them parade around the

world (as if they are completely untouchable &

nothing can happen to them) &

then one is dead inside.