underunderground

1

don’t sit too close to the TV, you’ll burn your brains out. tie your shoelaces, close the door

look both ways before you cross. make sure to chew your beliefs before you swallow. lying in bed at night remember to check your heartbeat.

gasp for air–

feel it filling your lungs. feel the fear and emptiness as the room gets bigger

underunder the covers.

move on to adolescent indulgence, forever self-loathing and other masturbatory behaviors. invent the quote best years of your life. the way it all seemed so innocent like outta some fucking bruce Springsteen song. its all wasted

away in a cloud,

in blurred visions of birthday candles,

in spilled cups that were always half empty.

now when that telephone rings and you hold up to your ear and that voice being transformed into electronic data tells you “you’ve lost it kid.” leave in search of another message or lit neon bar sign. one drink for the childhood nightmares that kept you awake.

for the monsters have all become a reality of evil thoughts.

put another song on the jukebox and try to forgetforget

2

i burn every bridge i cross. i am a sick fuck of nowhere hells vicious cycle of bad luck– another spilled drink, a broken condom, an unemployment check

i’ve never had a whore

before, but now i’m drunk

so i walk by them stoned,

and go home and masturbate to the dirty cunts.

i am the dented bumpers and forgotten hubcaps of the highway. the gambling debts, unemployment lines, painkillers. the great impounded vehicle. i am rape and pillage. i am the mindless jobs, the blood filled black phlegm cough. i am being forced by my own ignorance to steal to lie. i am

to be sold into this life like property and made to be a capitalist slave of democracy and the dollar.

i am being broken down and left with nothing. being ignored, remembering all your falls, all your mistakes. i am continuing to dull the senses, the lack of hope. i am dark rooms, insomnia and withdrawals. i am why you keep your fists clenched and grind down your tobacco stained teeth. why your patience is getting shorter with every carton of cigarettes.

why you wish you could do it all over again

3

keep using balled up newspaper to wipe your ass. leave your mark on the walls you choose to piss on. get canned food from the local churches and drink in front of the sacred television waiting for something else to happen. when you feel the breaking point and your hands wont stop shaking and the walls are closing in and the world seems so heavy–collapsing overover you

there’ll be a knock at the door and you’ll wonder if its death

and you’ll be standing at the window there, and you’ll see that dark blue summer night sky flashing with fireflies. and you’ll answer the door and find the landlord left you an eviction notice. so you finish your bottle of whisky, light that last smoke, and grab your pistol. you’ll remember your father

lying in the hospital bed dying

saying you end up with what you started with