I feel so frustrated,
Like something inside needs to snap,
But I’m holding it in,
I don’t quite know what it is,
It isn’t happiness,
It isn’t sadness,
It is something else,
Perhaps unspent anger,
Or a lament for days past,
Perhaps for the people I’ve lost,
I think it is my hate for my relatives,
And their flaccid amusement,
Their revolting periodical care,
Don’t feign your amusement for my family,
You disgust me with your weak views,
You are all dead to me.
The Rude
I sit upon my own doom-laden eve,
Nothing seems solid, nothing is usual,
Everyone seems disinterested, or ignorant,
Zero communication breeds hostility,
An anger builds due to anxiety,
It takes nothing to acknowledge, lift your game,
A lesson is learned, those who should matter don’t,
Expect a comparative reply, lesson result = fuck you!
All the tech in the world cannot fix the fucking rude.
Time, loss and the Thief of Memory
I thought decades healed me of your passing,
But it still burns painfully inside of me,
A rage, an anger at loss, robbed of love,
Your face is featureless now in my mind,
Time places a veil over all memories,
Is it healing, or is it a time bomb,
I have depleting moments left of us together,
All that remains tangible is,
This intense fire within.
That will never go out.
Dan Verkys 