Categories
POEMS

Fuck you, I’m done. and so are you

 I can hear them
Why is it wrong to be quiet?
Hmm?
Why is it?
Is there a problem?
Hmm?

It's just quiet.

But yet we watch talk shows to hear celebrities talk and poor people laugh
They don't stop
I know they don’t,
Searching for the next joke
The audience almost coughing
gasping for air
strangled by social pressures to not hurt anyone’s feelings
or get in the way so
Crying but with smiles
As if held down and tickled against their will
Tortured by their own biological systems,
I can feel it through my ears
The pain and the tickles
Their diaphragms like windbags
Their arseholes tight like a gun cocked
At the ready they'll fill the room with hysterical laughter and a metaphorical bang
All targeted at the host with hoots, hollers and metaphorical bullets
All because of an actor’s charming recount of forgetting their keys and wallet at home.
Like charms that ward of evil spirits
Like screams that ward off room for thought
The awkward smiles attempt to ward off any returns
The privilege to think is now an inconvenience
So we kill our brains to be able to get on with our days 🙂
Fuck being happy,
We have work tomorrow.

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