Life is Mediocre Most of The Time.
And so are we.
It takes little self- knowledge
and a little more acceptance
to see this.
Say
in the promises we don't keep
though it takes little effort to accomplish.
In your own tired eyes
in the morning, brushing your teeth
feeling quite bad because you're not bad
nor good-
you just are,
a utensil that once contained the false air
of possibility
but that now is all too true
in its emptiness.
In the dissapointing lovers,
in the dissapointing friends
in the dissapointing family.
Defeat after defeat.
Nothing but nothing.
Getting up from bed
like climbing a mountain.
Floating in life
like a ring of smoke
dissolving in the air;
the terrible, slow and stable
fade away occuring.
As lifeless as the guts of the lamp
dug out by the bloody hands
of the butcher.
Like flies shut in the palm
of a cruel God-
our insides dripping
between his fingers.
Not even tragedy, just dull pain.
Unchallenged submission
with no bickering.
Taking a nap on your couch
at four in the afternoon
with the television on mute,
realizing you haven't had a laugh
or as much as a giggle
in five months or more.
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