The All or Nothing Days

Age fueled delusions
A slow study in giving up control
The illusion of self
Turning inward on itself
I serve the machines in gods head
Dying at the palpit
Not sure what else to do
Fading voices
The background noise a lullaby
I barely sleep at all
Go ahead,
Tell me it was better back then
“You don’t know, you don’t know!”
remember feeling phony depth?
Hours on the floor trying to articulate the ceiling tiles
These are truly the days
The all or nothing days
Stripped of youthful hubris
I tar and feather the image inside
Worn edges, contortions of good intent
Humorous at times
jokes are just jokes, my dude
Broken yolks, a sink in need of attention
Pretty sure we’ll eat either way
Im not so certain...
maybe not? Maybe not here?
I’ll talk now, wait...
should we, though?
I can show you the mess of wires
Behind the cabinet, under the couch
Between the sheets
Down the street
Next to the statue of death
I can’t change
But maybe i can spare some