Victim of Doubt

(making peace with angst at the Golden Wheat bakery)


She doesn’t know me at all, wish I was tall.
think of her dress, don't place weight on a failure to impress.
Her lips don’t move in lockstep with reason, just a little too curious about self-destruction.
No real me, just addiction to irony, epitome of liberty. Constrained to this hunk of meat, can’t taste ether, or see in ultraviolet either.
I don’t smoke, who needs to - surrounded by so many jokes?
Every drawn out conversation could be summed up in a picture. Better to torture each other than produce art.
A paradox pun. A skinhead on the run.
Why choose, my instincts shine in reaction. Fit myself into every puzzle.
“I am not your rolling wheels; I am the highway.”
Broke his own body, God forgave me because I asked. My father’s house, I will live in my father’s house.
Every pain a reminder that the ticker will run out.
Hang your head at your failure to love.
Remember tomorrow. Forget yesterday. Think about the present means getting locked in a mirror, lasts forever by extinguishing time and your soul stopped in the headlights. Only love can distract us.
Narcissus - fatally fascinated with his own existence. I guess he didn’t love himself enough.
Nothing new here. Old truths are best. Old clothes don’t impress, but I welcome every comfortable wrinkle.
Keep forcing myself to talk, hope one day my keyboard will make a sound.
You can’t plan for an epiphany. Waiting, waiting, waiting.
Pass me the salt. That is love.
This poem is an insurance policy against future disappointment. Wisdom is an insurance policy - or maybe it's preventative maintenance. There is no more profound loss than an unexpected loss. When we leave our bike unlocked there is no blaming the thief.
Act in a rational manner? Impossible with so little information. All life is an incomplete experiment at how to be happy – if only I knew everything, I would plant my garden right and everyone would eat the fruit. Let’s play. The dice were loaded from the beginning. I’m the last to leave the table, stuck my whole life paying the bill for Original Sin. Garnish my salary or I’ll wash dishes in the kitchen forever. Look at the bright side though – fig leaves are in style and the apples were delicious.

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