deepundergroundpoetry.com
Cutting Onions
I cling aimlessly
to failure,
like a sailor
to his sinking ship
peeling back
another layer,
of this stinking shit
that coats my core
cutting onions is such a chore
this leaky faucet
needs a fix,
and it's beginning to drip
into every facet
of my life
little ripples rise—
to the surface
of Lake Placid,
growing nervous
into flowing rapids
silly rabbit
just when you thought
this storm was passing,
your stomach's churning
and the waves are crashing
this cup is ever full—
as the dam reaches max capacity
a catastrophe is inevitable
to failure,
like a sailor
to his sinking ship
peeling back
another layer,
of this stinking shit
that coats my core
cutting onions is such a chore
this leaky faucet
needs a fix,
and it's beginning to drip
into every facet
of my life
little ripples rise—
to the surface
of Lake Placid,
growing nervous
into flowing rapids
silly rabbit
just when you thought
this storm was passing,
your stomach's churning
and the waves are crashing
this cup is ever full—
as the dam reaches max capacity
a catastrophe is inevitable
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