BTRIPP (btripp) wrote,
BTRIPP
btripp

Oh, sure ...

Oh, yeah ... should have seen it coming ... should have made the prediction, looked brilliant. OF COURSE anything that seems "good" or "promising" or "hopeful" or "hey, at last my luck is turning!" has got to be bogus, and sure as Hell ... it turns out that way. Fuck. I want to believe SO BAD that things will get better. I want to be able to say "see ... all that work is paying off", but the fucking universe won't have it. It will let just enough light in to make it look like a new dawn and then smash down the illusion and laugh at the pain. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. If I could hate any more than I already do, if I had any bits of me that weren't already curdled into bitterness, if I had one sappy sliver of trust left in me, this would serve to twist it all into that world-crushing rage which only frustrates in its intensity. Like Caligula said in the dirty movie bearing his name "If only Rome had but one neck!" ... if only I could reach out and choke the life out of a malevolent world that revels in my torment, if only I could bash the fucking smirk off it's damned demonic face!


                    THE CONTINUING SLIDE


                    swirling miasmas
                    of disappointment
                    enveloping fog banks
                    of pain
                    we have landed
                    in vile centers
                    cast in nightmares
                    spun from dreams

                    nothing anticipated
                    finds fruition
                    nothing constructed
                    deigns to stand
                    we have fallen
                    into failures
                    crueller, deeper,
                    than any hell

                    set in a darkness
                    negating the sun
                    poisoned by grief
                    and tainted with doubt
                    that nothing will change
                    at least for the good
                    only cycles of descent
                    to still lower states

                    scrambled hours
                    which attain naught
                    but more confusion
                    more delusions
                    we strive and plan
                    without a prayer
                    destruction's assured
                    success a deceit

                    no hope remains
                    in broken day
                    we are cast down
                    into these frames
                    of direst futures
                    and dimmest fates
                    so much that death
                    seems our sole escape



                             - Brendan Tripp
                                04/25/2001

                    Copyright © 2001 by Brendan Tripp
 
 


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