Mouthbreather, Bottomfeeder
hours fracture by
spigots clog every pore
the ideatron flickers on off
on off, on off, on off
flexing muscles and flipping through
maladjusted soft spots in the lightly lit dayroom
sometimes i soak in the inane and wonder
am i really inching closer to something worthwhile
or am i ever falling, flailing arms into the ruin of insanity?
but there's something inside me
it must mean something
it must mean i'm losing it
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