fear of suicide

 
its check-shirt monday
surprise-surprise
so fucking predictable
says the man with no face
brushing his coffee bean teeth
with pearly white jesus

theres a traffic jam in my head
but he
does not care
if we are stuck in this mess
for the undying sunset
till we perish
into asphyxiation
frothing meditations on road rage
and car horn tinnitus

too bad
lady luck and death had a date
in the capital of kamikaze
shooting sake
fucking hair of the dog at midnight

so i grind
relentless
i mill pound and shred
till she calls
just to bore and call me
unreliable
unpresented
homeless

she
[my hypochondriac supermodel with a death wish]
thinks
i love the grind house
maybe its untrue
what if i care too much
about getting the job done

so i come home
late for dinner
again
cold spaghetti and hard vegetables
are waiting for daddy

the tv is unreceptive
too late to talk
too tired to mean something
so i sit in solitude
on standby
and consume
reality of world war three
asleep in my pocket

pass the salt and pepper
a steak knife
the candlestick holder
the rope
the revolving door
in the hall
in her bedroom
downstairs in my dungeon
amongst cobwebs of loneliness
watching daddy long legs multiply

excuse my boredom
excuse my boredom
excuse my boredom

the pseudonymous universe and i
we are connected
like down pipes and chimneys
like OCD and suicide
we destroy but never sense victory

i lay in my deathbed
calculating
the risk of failure
underdone vegetables
and a life worth living
with so little time to live

too bad
says the man with no face
smiling pearly white jesus