Field Trip

Telepathically passive
just like in real life, flaccid
always evolving
that thing which makes us
improving, building upon
timid fantasies
until considered vulgar
it’s so dirty and it’s too dark
the porch light isn’t burnt out
it fucking doesn’t work
there is no connection
to the source
I am silent but my voice
it’s hoarse
a choke hold around
my life force
dulling pain
with poison
pleasure’s name
I question second
outcomes, it’s insane
I am here, I am real
at the time of my wake
you think you’re only dreaming
but time it’s wide awake
for fuck’s sake
the taking is at stake
rake at the gates
a handful for the taking
live so fake
breathing mimicry
outward lie
it’s alright
that’s life
a smile hiding sigh
being, just living
through you
eyeing through keyhole
soldering my soul
to shaky fencepost


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