Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Regrets are left next to coffins, to be picked up by curious youth

I'm Sisyphus pushing a
pyramid toward jagged peaks
while you watch,

a 6-pack too many
and you're sloppy drunk
or epileptic,

no matter what side I turn you
it's all the same nowhere,

standing slouched, peering
over gorges calling names,
we are bathed in the sweat of regret,

a sweet inviting smell
that you've accepted,
and wear in resignation and disdain,

I'd like to hit you
so you'd snap out of it,
but the jump has already been made,

Now all thats left
for me to decide,
is whether
I should watch
close my eyes.

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