Years Better Erased than Written

I have enough words to tell you I don’t have anything to say,

Not now and not ever again.


What’s the point?

What does it matter?

Does anyone actually value being literate,

Or is it merely a convenience?


Buried in megapixels,

Whored out for micro SDs,

If only you had a brain.


For the fact that change has occurred,

Life remains the same;

Yet because hardly anything is the same,

It’s only then we recognize there has been any change.


D          I         E



Drain Me

You couldn’t pay me to write as of late,

I’ve been blaming a lack of motivation;

A lack of desire,

and at times a lack of much to write.

But it’s honestly at the point,

Where I know it’s not because of lack.

It’s because of the excess,

The surplus in my day to day;

The excess of work,

The excess of isolating and limiting depression,

The overwhelming loose fingered grip I feel upon myself.


I keep crashing,

Only to need to wake up moments after;

Or at least that’s how my weary head sees it in this foggy existence.