This really isn’t
The right path for me, but I
Pursue it out of a sense of
Obligation, of duty.
Snakes spring forth from my
Third eye, a third of my life
Passed by in the wrong lane at
The wrong time.
I had a quarter-life crisis, now a
Third-life crisis, it’s just one
Existential question after
Another, isn’t it?
Never been the type to think in
Simple terms, always had to
Overdose on overused abused
Words. In the last five years
I might have shaved off a
Decade from my lifespan,
Worries alone have wearied
My wingspan. Fuck it, man…
Same as it ever was, I could
Spend all day writing poems
And taking pictures and cooking
Dinner, daydreaming, over-
Thinking, over-spending,
Too much drinking. No magnum
Opus in the works, no patent
Pending. Only feeling.
Empty pockets all I have to show
For my life’s work. Well, what
Do you know – too much money
In the bank is called hoarding,
And clutter’s not my thing,
There you go.
All I recall is
How to live life too slow.

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