twelve thirty-four A.M.

12:34 am

Lean on you counter and make coffee.
Blank buzzing and
Streetlight down below. Cold kitchen and single bulb.

You sit on clean steel.
Scrub-faced, gym shirt and bare legged, staring into the future,
the compass of your mind,
Martyr by virtue of your own belief
and short sighted self-indulgence.

What are you to tomorrow, what were you to today?
No hero,
But a Roderigo to life's Iago.

You grasp onto your aspirations, claw watered down
Expectations;
Dyed strands, dead voice.

I've tried. I've not tried. The battle goes on
As the coffee leaves a sour sting and stale stink.
You the puppet of conformists
Soldier of the blind,
Child of the dreamers.

A mere chip in a
“limited edition! Million piece”
Jigsaw
Pre-destined and pre-ordained. Know your place. Keep your place.

12:46 am

Empty mug and empty kitchen. Streetlight down below. Warm
Steel and bitter mouth.

When will you learn to accept what has been given?
Go down without a fight.