BTRIPP (btripp) wrote,
BTRIPP
btripp

PLEASE, JUST FUCKING SHOOT ME, OK?

I do not think that I can adequately express how HIDEOUS these days and weeks and months of late have been. That does not, of course, stop me from cranking out poem after poem pretty much saying the same damn stuff TRYING to express it. This bugs me, of course ... I don't want to be saying the "same damn stuff" ... but every time I look inside myself, getting ready to dredge up another poem, there it is ... "same shit, different day" ... just another tick on the clock towards the particularly horrid fate that I seem to me moving towards.

This whole job search thing is INSANE ... 90% of the things I'm applying for I already KNOW are going to be soul-crushing living hells that will make me want to kill myself each and every day. Plus, it looks 99% sure at this point that we're going to be losing our home ... I can't see anyway at this point that we'll be able to stay here ... and "here" being my dream home where I never wanted to move from. I can't even IMAGINE moving. The whole scenario is too bizarre. The Wife seems all eager, though, she grew up in suburbia and thinks that it would be WONDERFUL to raise The Girls out there. I don't think I could survive it though. Except for just being there for my daughters, I have NO incentive to live at this point. I have failed at EVERYTHING I have ever attempted, I am faced with going back to a life of unrelenting hell work-wise and being cast down into some unspeakable pit of inanity as far as where we will be living. Things might be survivable for The Wife and my girls, but it will be be nothing but crushing torment for me. I somehow think they would be better of with me dead ... lord knows that *I* would be better off dead than in a jack-shit job someplace in some jack-shit suburb, having to fucking COMMUTE to some piece-of-shit shack in the middle of a bland fucking sea of piece-of-shit shacks, day in and day out, with no HOPE of things ever getting better.


                    TRAPPED, DRAGGED DOWN


                    wasted hours
                    driving through
                    the "shoulds" and "musts"
                    this effort, useless,
                    pointless, all in vain
                    we, at gunpoint
                    forced to our knees
                    to placate the world

                    how better to be able
                    to follow the inner voice
                    and cast away the world,
                    standing bravely
                    against the storm
                    even as it destroys
                    us and everything
                    we care about

                    we search for chain
                    to bind our hands
                    in bondage to
                    the mundane beast...
                    how much our hate
                    grows by the day,
                    how much our anguish
                    burns deep within

                    stupid dreams and hope
                    are all that's left,
                    there's nothing but pain
                    in this reality,
                    no magic road
                    which leads away
                    into sanity, sense,
                    and safer zones

                    like bucket crabs
                    the sleeping mass
                    pulls us down
                    from where we've climbed
                    murmuring platitudes
                    of how none may ever
                    achieve the waking
                    or attain the light



                             - Brendan Tripp
                                10/09/2001

                    Copyright © 2001 by Brendan Tripp
 
 



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