Garland Courier

I got nothing
but the beat of my heart
it is throbbing, pumping,
while my mind is slumping
counting days
counting hours
there is no wasted time
just wasted energy
Efficient is
all you can be
cry and whine
your anger is not going to disappear
it is not going away
like the thoughts that kept you going
and the power
building up in your chest.
Distraction.
Throbbing, pumping,
cursing
landing on your feet
there was never more control to reach
than you standing upright,
ahead a head’s length over their bows
above there is nothing waiting
for a poor fool
wasting his time on memorizing chess strategies.
NOW SEE INTO THE ABYSS
LOOK INTO YOUR OWN GOD DAMN EYES
STOP COPPING
STARE AND CRY
ONTO THE PATHETIC LIFE FORM.
LOSE YOUR MIND
YOUR SENSE FOR YOURSELF,
YOUR EGO DISSOLVES
into just another pawn.
What is to be
has long been written
me and you
broken abstraction
of a hero myth
– a mere representation of good living
tell me what is important
to you and
where you had found the role to fill
and what do your thoughts tell you
when you stand in front
of the ones celebrating
your reign over your life.
I dip my head
into a pool of bubbling iron
wear the crown on my head
fused with my flesh
as there is not a more propagated virtue
than personal sacrifice.
Sometimes I pull upon
my wounds when my
headgear is itching,
wishing:
All of us
should be bleeding the same;
but I forgot their condition
doesn’t tell me how much blood they have left
and if they are capable of
adding what hardly they were able to give
in the first place.
I personally own them nothing.
for buildings my hearts cage.
Pump, Bum, Pump.
I wish it wouldn’t all turn out to be trinkets
after I had sold my hand’s fingers, my mind’s thought
and my clock’s pointers
to the highest bidder.

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