its the end of the line now
end of the queue
for a decent shot at life
end of the rope
im holding on for dear life
end of the chances
i’ve been given
end of the hope
that i’ll have more choices

there are no new beginnings
only more goodbyes
more ends
more separation
more, more, more
raucous, rhythmic
saturating your pores
over and over and over

and you wonder
is this what life is?
loop dee doos,
cycles galore?

everything is repeating itself
and you, a mere spectator
in your own life
a passive voyeur

.

hands, trembling on the lighter
breath wispy--hapless and uncontrolled
eyes red, pulling an all nighter
coffee steaming, lukewarm then cold

these days are filled with magic in the air
the kind that makes your head spin
fracturing your mind
with all the grace
of a butcher
making a beautiful glasswork
stained with blood

living is surreal
despite reality
and strangeness
a strange word

deep in the gutted recesses
of your threadbare mind
what is it that you wish for:
to find
or to be found?