Sewer Water

I’m writing
writing
writing
the pen is running
out
spinning out
of
control.
I’m fairly certain
I will bomb-out
and explode.
I’m sure of all
edges
Whether it be
towel or cliff
or paper drift
My
pen
pen
pen is
Running
out
out
out.
Barley registering
missing loose ends.
I’m pretending
to pretend.
I’m grasping at the lapels
ripping out
each stubborn
staple.
I’m snipping off
Procrastination’s somber lips
as they level
and fill
with all possible
doubt and pricks.
I’m swimming
in blue shit,
green envy,
and red spit.
It winks at me
with empty eye sockets,
teeth changing
quickly into to rockets.
I’m trying to commit
but am failing to do so.
Every missing letter
kills each trodden cell.
I’m learning
to let go,
pinch it off
let each breath
flow.
Treat every teardrop
as yellow cyanide.
Box every butterfly
as it’s dying
inside.
Barley comprehensible
these missing feelings
as they fall.
I’m equipped
to handle
it all but ignore
inner advice like
putrid lice or tepid fire.
I’m sweating
in this porcelain tomb
sucking fresh cobwebs
from the corner of the room.
Stealing thoughts like maggots
falling asleep on the rug.
I’m white-washing
all the putrid green
that killing machine
still wanting to gleam.
I’m gristle to the
muscle core.
I’m gorging out,
gargantuan doubt.
I’m failing in the sewer of lies
where lead men sit
to stink up the flies.
Sewer Water only tries.