Is it prose or poetry?
"Taking crap and turning it into something beautiful for us all to enjoy."
I woke up to tears hidden behind lies
and dried blood on my wrist
this nag is getting me owning me
fucking me
when it should just go on and find someone else to enjoy.
Go fuck a cat maybe.
I've made several asses of myself lately.
This black hole of hell grows, self propelling self fulfulling, myself defeating.
The Pharmies they are fun sometimes
but I get sick of the ridiculous smile and the silly
energy
and the crash. always the crash back to glass and
cement and tearing hair and silent longings and tendencies and fidgeting and fetish.
always the crash the windshield shattering and to my
disappointment
the deploying of the bags of flesh.

Again, is it prose or poetry or just dressed up garbage and
a psychotherapist tired of hearing the same old dried out
dribble about killing fathers and lusting after mothers and penis envy and goats.
Damn the goats always.

Dirk R. Nykamp

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