damaged goods

rolling over in burnt blankets of mistakes &
seething at the mere mention of the name that
echoes most recently through the maddened mind
like a gong being dragged through a city street
chained to the tail-end of a 4x4 that has no
particular place to go.

rotting in the bowl with mold all furry,
being torn apart by fruit flies & other insects making
new condos & apartments in the heart &
where does it end?
as the wreckage piles up like old toys in the garage &
all the animals from the forest come in to make themselves
at home,
much like the flies & insects in the fruit bowl,
it suddenly seems like everything alive
is having more fun than the thinker that is
presently thinking.

pus forming in the infected cuts &
the bruises get bandaged again &
as one party runs clear out through the field
away from the other,
another connection is eradicated &
another individual gets one more notch towards
a lifelong complex.

the feeling that one is not good enough &
that one will never be good enough &
that one doesn’t deserve to be happy &
therefore one begins to learn to hate happiness &
then one begins to hate others who are happy &
then one begins to die inside watching them parade around the
world (as if they are completely untouchable &
nothing can happen to them) &
then one is dead inside.