End Transmission

Put in too much effort
to just give up,
but lord knows I still will.
“Born a quitter, died a quitter”
will be written on the stone above my grave,
Maybe things would be different
if I could control what I crave.
I’ve never been able to listen
every line sounds the same
carved out a role for myself in the snake pit
by now I barely notice their fangs
no more opening my mouth – end transmission –
I finally know when to quit the game.

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Again

I bite off more than I can chew
again
and again,
The cycle doomed to repeat itself until I’m dead.
My plate is overflowing
I don’t think I can eat it all
Gotta hurry up, the second course is coming
An extra side dish I didn’t order is sent
again, And again,
I want to starve, the turkey’s carved
I’m not a fat cat, they keep filling my plate up
Looking for a new way to say,

I think I’ve had enough

I’m fed up again.
Can’t do the impossible
Can’t drown in the desert
Can’t drain a stone of a drop of blood
Working on accepting what I can’t change
I’m stuck in the mud,
again.
It’s alright (it’s alright)
There are burdens I’ll learn to deal with
Time will teach me to conquer them, again,
Then time will conquer me someday (Time conquers all)
Time heals and kills
again and again.

Caustic

The equation works out like this;
Mentally spastic,
Physically inactive,
Spiritually indifferent,
Psychologically speaking, I’m always obdurate,
Metaphysically desolate,
Overall feeling conflicted,
Hours spent questioning the purpose of existence,
Time within an undetermined mind
feels like a prison sentence,
Was wading in shallow waters,
but now I’m adrift,
This isn’t one of those trips
it’s not about the journey – it’s the destination,
Murdering my mind and time with procrastination,
Everything is static, waiting for the changes,
Suffering from absentee motivation,
Call back tomorrow,
my brain is on vacation,
Trying isn’t my strong suit,
I guess I’m just not dedicated,
Ambition is in short supply, sluggish passivity permeates,
Ineffectively straining to fully comprehend causation,
Incessantly contemplating what constitutes “Salvation,”
Internally debating; is cognitive thinking a blessing or some sick mutation?

Interest/Disinterest

This time always came;
the lights shut off,
the screen goes blank.

Eyes glaze over,
interest starts to fade –
Time moves slower,
minutes feel like days –

Nothing’s worth the price I paid.

By now it’s become commonplace
for me to stop caring,
Speaking to me invades my personal space,
thanks for sharing,
go away.

Disinterested, I disengage.

The promises people always break
mean less and less
after each one’s made.

I’m not getting what I expected
just another unfair trade
I ran out of Give A Shit
I exist in what I create.

Source: <a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/interest/”>Interest

Boxed In

Time reclaims its grip tightly again
Follow the path for long enough,
tracing all its bends,
then deal with the relapse when it comes.
All the answers are locked behind the same wall,
all hidden in the same box
Can’t help but wonder who has the key
There’s got to be a way to manipulate these things.
Pulling the curtain might be the last thing I want to do
(leave it all out in the open)
The freshest air always gets tainted
The best of all timing always gets wasted
This feels like an experiment gone wrong
Sometimes things just go awry,
not every single bird knows how to fly.
‘Get me the hell out of here,’ I’m always thinking
Then what am I doing always coming back
I’m trying to get the hell out
bags are already packed
There’s a box waiting for me and you and you
and all of us
I had no premonition to prevent this
but even if I had,
I never would’ve learned then
Unlocked the box with all the answers
I should’ve burned instead.

Terse/Mordant 

If you can bet on it then it’s probably rigged
Every description’s cautiously vivid
Follow the program becoming toxically rigid
Bothered by thoughts hauntingly cryptic

Smothering logic by feeling irrational
Rock bottom starts seeming manageable
Ignorant of the cost,
Knocking on the doorstop leaping down another rabbit hole
Just another lost cause
Stop trying to fix the process, just for once be fucking rational. 

Howl of Desperation

Somehow all the right trees are uprooted at the wrong time
We all feel the ground beneath us shaking
Wonder if we have things that need disconnecting, too
But the ways we learn begin to be so painstaking
How could anything of value grow in this place?

Search for something solid,
what’s real all fades away.
There’s no high left to chase
We run and hide, we run and hide,
but nothing seems to change.

The warning signs all wail
Desperate not to become a waif
Desperate not to become a waste
Desperate is all we’ve come to stay
Desperation coming in droves makes it hard to create.

We’ve reached rock bottom so things can only get better – or more obscure – 
of that, we’ll make damn sure
Circling back, surfers find the shore
Circling back, search for nothing more
Circling back, desperate for a cure
Circling back, this window I’ve climbed through is nothing but a detour.
So what’s the allure? What’s the allure?

We’re all out here looking for something we cannot escape,
What I thought was a garden was just a nest full of snakes. 

Insanity

Do all you can to relax,

take deep breaths, 

take your time, 

take things slow

It may still seem impossible 

But daydreams make it feel logical 

Sharp snap back to reality, 

and the smog covers over 

can’t see to the other side 

You can only wait it out and know that you’ll survive 

no matter how long it takes 

these things come to pass 

You could wait and flip and flip the hourglass

Everything is rarely clearly revealed 

It’s all a guessing game and putting faith in something that may not be real

Play the game for keeps 

and keep all the leverage you can get 

Try to figure out existence 

but the purpose, I can’t guess 

What if we can’t nail it down 

Until we do we will wander around aimless 

I watch the dial spinning on my moral compass

Money, sex, love, success, or happiness, 

the dial’s out of control

And if there is an afterlife, well how am I to know

I can only find out whenever I die 

Or I’ll wait to find what cross I am nailed to

Do I have a cause I would wear a crown of thorns for 

Sometimes I am lost I would die to find something to carry on my back 
But I just can’t 

no matter how much I search, 

I’m like a foot soldier who’s lost the battle and the war 

And so much more

And so much less simultaneously 

And my opus I’m still writing in an untimely manner – of course – 

I don’t know what’s the matter anymore 

Tired of this illusion 

Tired of this confusion 

Tired of this constant state of bemusement

Tired of uncertainty, 

give me a foregone conclusion

I won’t search anymore I’m too exhausted for any movement 

If someone wants or needs me they can prove it –

even if I won’t believe it’s true or absolute 

because trusting anyone is too hard to do – 

I’ll set up my defense mechanisms once it’s too late 

Serving a sentence for my own carelessness

I’ll care too much and then give up 

But sometimes all the doors are closed

and no one opens up a window 

Getting in is sometimes just as hard as getting out 

There is nothing that makes sense here 

My mind is troubled by endless doubt.