pessimism of the intellect.

you’ve grown so weary

these efforts to be the cerulean gem

in the bottom of a bowl full

of dusty grey stones

you wear lethargy

this strangling scarf, a costume of lead

the lack of liquefaction

from the frozen chambers of compulsion

you navigate through fetid gloom

peering longingly at the façade

more vertical contiguous cliffs

with broken and missing guard rails

you choose formidable riches

not successful completion of tedious tutorials

the rubbish you knew already

when you first awoke

you want more than a sense of triumph

for getting out of the crumpled bed

and looking yourself in the eye

in your filthy bathroom mirror

© june 2011 heather brager