Comfort breeds contempt
like nobody’s business.
That’s not why I’m bidding you
goodbye this gruesome day,
and I’d prefer not to talk about it,
so fuck you and warmest regards.
I’ve got to get my splinters in order,
check the thermostat
for signs of infection.
This ballpoint pen is a rather
invasive truth to be coping with
so early in the afternoon, I think, so
with that, I cast it to the fires
my dislocated youth left burning.
Only, the flames will be weak blue
when they peak, and my former truths
like so much diffused smoke.
One thought on “8.10.18”
Isn’t disillusion the loss of illusions? Well, sometimes that’s the best part of growing up.