41 - 45

41. Being the son of a poor teacher,

Meant I had to teach math too many times.

I never want to sleep molten laminate,

Or experience  the sheer of a butcher paper cutter.

I don’t want to see anymore red pen ink,

No more bleeding pages, I have scribbled

On too many lines. 

42. Your body is a machine, imperfect. Your adrenal gland is too large. Your appendix too close to exploding for divine design. Your eyes to likely to erode. You carry around six molar hydrochloric acid in a mucus sac. You run on inefficient chemical processes, and your brain is too big for evolution to continue in good spirits. When you die, you run the risk of your rib-cage exploding from the pent up gasses, the noxious rage of your now late body. You will return to soil, you will return to your mother.

43.That damn bird.

Stuck in it melancholy

In the weeping willow.

Its wilted limps hang

Close to my window,

Unintentional up close look

At the sounds of nature. Its red

Is too bright, and its children barren,

Hungry.

44. Its late.

 The night young,

and the pack tired.

The caravan needs to

 leave before sunrise or

the Donner pass will swallow us.

We’re in late autumn.

The snow fresh,

And the storm continuing.

The horses need to rest,

But we need to get to Dakota before.

The Donner Party will have to eat again.

Frozen, splintered wheels of carts

Now fuel dying fires.

We need to cut our losses,

And the throat of a horse

To keep through the night.

Unless we want to eat

like the Donner party.

45. I was in Seattle,

Guiding my kindergarten muse

Into a bathroom to repent in slurs.

She only tried to find herself

In the ten story fall.

Adderall knows her better than I do now.

Little Any, such a prideful girl, so prudish.

I knew her in middle school.

That is a bond few admit to share,

But we know too much about each other

To want to ruin each other’s image.

She only wanted to be wonderful,

In a world so cruel.

She know I can’t live for the both of us.