BTRIPP (btripp) wrote,
BTRIPP
btripp

thinking of the M*A*S*H theme ...

God, I hate this ... just fucking hate this ... these are the times when life itself seems like one deep suffocating nightmare from which there is no hope of awaking ... not possible way to escape. Why does nothing ever work? Why does every fucking effort to dig myself out of this pit get trashed? Every day it's some new disaster, some new and unexpected piece of crap being dumped on me. How fucking long am I supposed to take this???

Just lovely that I can turn my inner demons into poems, eh? This way I can not only suffer from my personal agonies, but I can get widely mocked as well ... "Extra, extra ... read all about it ... pitiful sack of shit writes more morbid crap! http://i.am/btripp Read 'em while he's still breathing!" ...


                    FROZEN IN DAMNED TIME


                    so adrift
                    so unwhole
                    we are broken
                    and unable to synch
                    the world grinds on
                    full of malice
                    we are lost
                    with no relief

                    stuck in a zone
                    all grey and hazy
                    bits appear
                    welled from dreams
                    we start to act
                    yet every motion
                    stirs the mists
                    and melts the scene

                    below this surface
                    lurks a darkness
                    a vast and inky black
                    which consumes all
                    and reaches out to taint
                    all things of light
                    I am poisoned by this
                    unable to escape

                    we know that dark,
                    that shadowy evil,
                    it is the inner nature
                    of the sleeping mundane world;
                    no matter how we run
                    we are sucked into its depths,
                    gripped by its tendrils,
                    choking, dragging down

                    is there no end
                    to this nightmare here?
                    is there no way to free
                    the self from the insane world?
                    we find no paths
                    which are not illusion,
                    we find no roles
                    which don't simply mask the lie



                             - Brendan Tripp
                                01/06/2002

                    Copyright © 2002 by Brendan Tripp
 
 



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