i've become repetitive
again.

i would be going slower
if i walked backwards
but i think i'd run into things.

i want to beat the hell
out of my alarm clock,
smash all of my watches,
and throw humanity's cell phone
in the Hudson river.

rushing time is all we do.
time is for the taking
and it's in supply and demand
and all of us sinners are just letting it pass us by.

the gold that no one seeks.

and you walk on by
with that
"tough it up, cowboy" jut in your strut
and you just let it all come down around you
winkin' like you got no cares in the world.

what's your secret?
anti-depressants?
labotomy?

porn?

for all i know
you could be the reincarnation
of someone entirely better than i
but what would that prove?

time is still drowning us
into oblivion and my fear is that
if i don't do something quick
then i'm going to piss away something important.

and then what would i hope for
and psychotically contemplate
until my insides start caving in
my eyes twitch
and i wake thinking that last nights pondering
was a mindless waste of time.

if only
you weren't my anti-depressant.

if only.

04/12/2003

Author's Note: i know. its a weird poem.

Posted on 04/12/2003
Copyright © 2024 Lauren Singer