i struggle to live the story that I am attempting to write
i ink myself along each line of the day
fact and fancy smeared with the curve of my palm

my imagination of all that could be jogs in front of me-
wagging his ass
ill never keep up
or surpass
always- his behind is in my face

and the newsbrokers pummel pummel PUMMEL
my heart and sense of mind
with all that’s gone askew
-my innards so mashed that i can barely soak up any hope
before it all seeps away

ive called upon the muse for new lines to our story- to end the madness-
and from her the ink has rained down so greatly
that I struggle not to drown
in the darkness of responsibility
and accountability
of awareness

it would be so much easier to just... dot...dot...dot...

so much to do... so much needs to change
It ain’t just a matter of time
when we are running out of pages to write upon


at least there is one comfort that I can embrace from my pain
- I know that I have shred my trance