deepundergroundpoetry.com

Hijacking the Panic Wagon

yesterday, I had six weeks
to make my cross-country journey
 
today,
I have ten sleeps ‘til Brooklyn
 
Fuck!  
Fuck!
Fuck.

 
Exercise One  
(Back to the basics)
ground yourself
see
feel
hear
smell
taste
 
I can’t see for shit,
eyes jumping ship before  
I could finish reading
the carefully worded bomb
detonating on boring white
photocopied letter head
 
I’m surprised you didn’t  
lose a few fingers
typing that up

 
my apartment’s been rented  
to some other idiot  
crazy enough to live  
in this wasteland  
of nondescript normality;
blah, blah, blah  
effective December first
PS ~ we forgot to tell you  
a month ago
ope!
 
for what it cost to live here,
you should have gone  
with embossed, asshole

 
Fuck!
Fuck!
Fuck.

 
sweat trickles
down throbbing temples
skin overheated
chilled to the bone  
overlapping confusion  
and clarity;  
I want to run
but my feet won’t move  
rooted
to this ugly brown carpet
it’s soft
there we go
 
now we’re getting somewhere
 
Maybe.
 
fuck!
fuck!
Fuck.

 
do you hear what I hear?
the upstairs neighbors  
are dragging bodies  
across the floor again;
you’d think by now
they’d learn to miss
the furniture
 
rain against the roof
no
hungover, I left
my noise machine on  
this morning,
stumbling out of bed
to call in sick to work
 
sick of my own shit, ha!
 
I tilt my head back
towards the wall;
the entire universe  
comes along  
for the ride  
 
I’m going to be sick
 
fuck!
Fuck.

 
fight or flight is a funny thing
when you can do neither
 
I sink into this moment;
finding the proverbial
happy place;
it’s still happy for me, you know  
 
breathe in,
breathe out

 
breathe in,
breathe out
 
 
breathe in,
breathe out
 
someone is grilling,
lucky bastards
the flaming sirloin  
makes unabashed love  
to crisp autumn air
I still want to go camping  
and...onions?
I’m jealous,
which beats being  
suffocated  
any day of the week
 
Fuck.
 
my tongue finally  
braves the open space
between my teeth
to taste iron on my lips
there’s already enough
blood in this water,
no more
 
fuck.
 
trembling fingers  
nervously gripping ~
sipping dollar store tea
from a handmade cup
the story of my life
 
pen and paper in hand
embossed, because  
I’m not an asshole

I plan sure steps
with shaky fingers  
 
I have ten whole days
Written by LunaGreyhawk
Published
Author's Note
About as raw as it gets.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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