play it cool, text me when you walk out

adele-rolling in the deep (jamie xx remix) ft. childish gambino

first of the year

They told me that we
are already at
24
(cool)

twen-ty-four

Another one to the quarter
of this amazing self sabotage,
if I happen to make it
to a horrible hundred years.
16 to 40

four-ty

Easy on the tongue but
horrifying in a mess
of endless anxiety,
and disposable days.

I promise that I'll never
(give it up)
tell anyone anymore about how
great it will be, you know
super grand when it's done,
when I never tell myself

"you really should start now
 you idle, day-dreaming fuck"

and a child will never give birth
to itself,
and I will be the worst father
(sigh)

and March is about to leave
without looking back at all.

found poem

by Mike Essig




The days piled up too high and then collapsed.
Everything was sadder than it used to be.
What we are concerned with here is unhappiness.
It is not a question of enlightenment, but recognition,


that chameleon of vapid, disinterested change.
What does it all come down to in the end?
Feeling furtive needs isn't living;
you weary of feeding your needy, mammal body.
We must extricate ourselves from this repugnant spectacle.


The gates of the world open and close to no end.
The cosmos uses your own voice to complain.
The summit sings what is spoken in the depths.
The boulevards of your brain become smaller.
The wars are far away and oddly peaceful.
The lamps we light at dusk are for nothing.


I found this poem in the flea market of old words,
paid for it with the sorry shards of my memories,
and offer it to oblivion with whatever else I have stolen.
Consider it a final toast to everything that didn't happen.