poem written during work

my life is a lot like saw 4 where the guy is sitting in the chair and the only way out is by pushing his face through a bunch of knives.

a name of an old friend

came up in converstation today.

one from the time

when dreams were made up

simply enough

of dinosaurs and classroom pizza parites.

"living the dream," they say

"exactly what he wants out of life!"

my god, have i auctioned myself

to the first and lowest bidder

that the idea of free will has escaped

as easily as a houdini with a hat pin?

to lock myself away

in a one bedroom cell

noticing the days slip away

by the bottle on top of the trash.

a frail and defeated ghost

holding no more substance

than hot breath on a cold window.

to give up

for gold or jewels or women with big tits

at least that hold logic.

but to bottle and sell

my youthful essence

for a few worn pieces of copper

i cry ignorance!

sweet mericiful deity in the sky,

throw down your lightening bolt or plague

to wipe away this yellowed s**t stain

off an otherwise clean pair of undewear.

this last piece of code

with no form or function

stuck in a downpour

of random ones and zeroes.

endless chutes,

yet not a single ladder

to raise myself up

to the level of the giant beast

who thwarts me with his endless barrels.

a lonely pawn

on a cold dark chessboard

surrounded by death

every move

wrong.