US

I am tired of writing words,

almost poems,

passing thoughts.

meaningless memories,

silent dreams,

forgotten love,

wasted time,

senseless jobs;

I want more;

I want inner realities,

mysterious creations,

forbidden planets,

hidden worlds,

passionate pleas;

I want art,

I want life;

I want to rip this body open,

expose all the guts,

all the filth,

lay it bare

on the stone cold floor

for all the world to see,

watch it run slowly

down the drain,

feel the emptiness float away;

I am sick of all the bullshit,

all the hypocrisy,

sometimes it is just too much to bear,

sometimes I want to grab it by the throat,

wring its little fucking neck,

sometimes it makes me

want to puke;

I want her,

I want us.

.

.