Some kind of ick,
In the pit of my nowness
That’s making me nauseous,
And taking my drowsiness,
Is pulling at my doze—my consciousness.

‘Pay attention,’ it jerks,
‘You were disrespected today.
You should be nervous—be sick.
Remember the slurs they farted out,
Think of the stink it will cause!’

I just want to sink—to sleep—
But this stifled affront
Keeps rifling, rousing up
An imaginary future confront,
Pushing tomorrow’s lines under my nose.

‘Put them in their place,’ the ick asserts,
‘Give them their just desserts.
You don’t deserve this,
They’re blood boilers—they’re serenity soilers.
Tell them what goes around comes…’

And around I toss—I turn—
Now 1…now 2…now 3 a.m.
By four I’ve fallen, and so has
The day before, it’s ick a warrior
Slaying enemies in the eyes of a dream.





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