Be gone

Exorcise
the demons of potential
and erase
the remembrance of flight

Allow me
the therapy of apathy
so the unreciprocated
lust towards substance
can end

Too much
is this burden
of the in-between
and I wish not to rise again
above the flames
Let my last reserves
be fuel

let me be consumed

The backlash
of inspiration
is when momentum stalls
in the shadows of immortality
where the infinity of ambiguity
reigns
and not even darkness
can be grasped

let alone light

Give me
the lobotomized
pleasure of sensation
The neon lit
orgy of material

I
want to
enjoy the television enough
to no longer bore my peers
with philosophy

let alone poetry