Tag Archives: angst

Shortsighted Longviews

Sit around and watch the tube, but nothing’s on
I change the channels for an hour or two
Twiddle my thumbs just for a bit
I’m sick of all the same old shit
In a house with unlocked doors
And I’m fucking lazy…

~*~

Life is heading nowhere

Let’s beat up junkies in this dead-end shit town

I’ve smoked my eyes red

And turned my whole life and brain upsidedown

My room is a total mess

Of posters, porn magazines and week-old pizza

But I don’t have to stress

If I clean it up, I’ll lose track of my own paranoia

My remote is so worn-out

Surfing the channels but I end up watching static

A tidal wave of chips and soda

Of trash and junk piling up under this ratty sofa

There’s no bullies I could fight

No school walls I can spray paint with fuck you

And I’m sick of thinking right

And looking for a father that I never even knew

My skateboard lost one wheel

And my knees are too skinned to recover now

Afternoon heat’s suffocating

I hate having to go out and have a blast anyhow

There’s nothing else to do

All my friends are busy making out behind diners

I can fake my own death

But I’m just too lazy to think about it any further

Soggy, bathed in apathy

Wasting time by counting the hairs on my head

Being a creep to the girls

Acne on my face spelling loser, I’d rather be dead

They say I’m being dumb

But I’m just another stupid kid who has the right

And I just wanna be numb

To the pain of thinking of growing up overnight

Am I whining again, mother?

This broken home I live in still hasn’t fixed itself

My head cracked like the streets

You don’t have to care if it’s all bad for my health

Playing the same old cycles

I’m just a hairy dog trapped under the summer rain

So where’s the motivation?

It’s fucking lonely, and I’m the only one who remains

I lit fireworks ’til I burned out

There’s no light at the end of this suburban purgatory

Nothing but a juvenile doubt

Picking scabs and bleeding, let me escape this misery

Maybe I will run away again

Hitch my way or maybe jump over the turnstile train

Until the pighead cops catch me

And send me back to bed, busted-up and beaten badly

I still wonder what the hell to do

They say it’s teenage angst, but I’m too fucking angry to listen

I don’t know if I’ll have a better view

When I come around the noose, and I’ll still be jaded even then.

~*~

Bite my lip and close my eyes
Take me away to paradise
I’m so damn bored I’m going blind
And I smell like shit…

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Just A Twinge Of Cosmic Angst: A Sestina

I sit taciturn and wondering, waiting for the universe

to take my shaking hand into her further infinity.

I see the connected constellations, ostentatious

as they are, splashes and arcs of light tessellating

into the galaxy’s tender motion and sleepy staccato,

Falling fast within this midnight sky so consummate.

.

Now I won’t admit into being also consummate,

Not in the physique of this elegant universe.

My body is made of mere stardust staccato

ravelling tightly into a quite beautiful infinity.

Yet I shall admit defeat unto death, tessellating

into a parasitic decay non so ostentatious.

.

We all wish to enter the gates of Heaven, ostentatious

as humans get. We are quite passionate and consummate

with our concepts arranged into a stained-glass tessellation,

Ignoring still the vast reaches withheld in the universe

and thinking that this small orbit of ours is all that’s infinity,

Earning us a mindset of broken glass and fragmented staccato.

.

Truly, our planet is a zealous one, of cobalt and viridian tessellation,

Pieced together, and yet barely holding on, our divinity ostentatious.

Our sea levels and stretched firmament seem to reach infinity

up to our all-knowing Mother, her opalescent gown consummate,

But then again, she is just another dress in this party of the universe

Her descrying jade heart pulsating and flatlining into faintest staccato.

.

And materialistic, we resolutely remain, technology tessellating,

Preaching with arguing high voices, radioing into noisy black staccato.

Pray must we, for help. Ask forgiveness to the spinning universe

for we have been too indulged getting severely pompously ostentatious.

And soon, no longer will she ever care, for she is a goddess consummate

with her rarities. A powerful chromatic angel donning white wings of infinity.

.

We drown all our self-abnegation in a shallow turbid pool of falsified infinity,

But look up to the astral skies, you fools, and see the stars’ bright tessellation!

We can nevermore achieve the paramount gracefulness of being consummate,

for we are mere scintilla specks floating in space. Barely even a borrowed staccato

that’s vainglorious, ruffling our colourful feathers. Now cease ostentation,

Breathe in the sun…do you feel that slightest twinge of cosmic angst from the universe?

.

I whisper but echoing souls, cut into philosophical tessellation, and cast into evaporation. I might as well be speaking staccato,

but the patient universe hears my every cry, and gifts me some of her onyx satin habiliment. I accept humbly, non ostentatiously

so I see clearly finally. Wherefore must we humans be so dragged into consummate? This life is not a question of perfection, but rather, what we choose to do with our own infinity.

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Filed under Fixed Poetry, Poetry