deepundergroundpoetry.com
days nowadays
i go to work
i do a job
i come home;
i take a bath, or i don't
wallow in filth, or take care of my skin?
doesn't seem to matter
unwashing-
that's a man's poem
there's enough of them
big, sighing, lumbering
put upon poems
layered under stoicism
and the shape of calloused fists
don't mind me
taping electrodes on my head
to rewire my insides
when anxiety creeps in
like a letter on the doormat
dont mind me screaming to myself
while the tub fills with aromatic water
drifting into the sleep of a waterfall
that promises me health and success by morning
i'll write something about the bloody fucking blood moon
i do a job
i come home;
i take a bath, or i don't
wallow in filth, or take care of my skin?
doesn't seem to matter
unwashing-
that's a man's poem
there's enough of them
big, sighing, lumbering
put upon poems
layered under stoicism
and the shape of calloused fists
don't mind me
taping electrodes on my head
to rewire my insides
when anxiety creeps in
like a letter on the doormat
dont mind me screaming to myself
while the tub fills with aromatic water
drifting into the sleep of a waterfall
that promises me health and success by morning
i'll write something about the bloody fucking blood moon
Published 22nd Jan 2019
Author's Note
i feel about this writing exactly the way it sounds like i feel
perhaps there's no point in putting it out there for a reader. i'm just releasing it, like a spider i could have probably squashed without much consequence
perhaps there's no point in putting it out there for a reader. i'm just releasing it, like a spider i could have probably squashed without much consequence
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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