Another trip around the Sun
And I find myself relinquishing to shame
And deep-set Anguish.
The Origin of Every Existence.
Knowing you’re a blessing to be around and finding a way to life and ways to circumfront
That no one knows what they’re doing.
And I what I hold callously
Or self-deprecatingly.
Will utterly break me,
Under my intrigue
And critical attention
To everything I find lacking.
And then only then,
Do I remember that to be biotic – one must make waste.
And I hold that kismet,
To nihilistic tunes or rage
De-admittance, and giving up.
That’s it’s all a crock of bullshit.
And this is the Life I got.
Make time to be sad about it.
Being an-original-sin: sucks.
It’s supposed to be my day off today.
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