(Originally published by Horror Sleaze Trash)

staring at a blank page

waiting for the word to escape

wanting the poem or story to come

something creative

to make me feel alive

any goddamn thing

to make my day worthwhile

so my reason for existence on earth

wasn’t just to make rich people more rich

my purpose today wasn’t just to sweat

eat and pay taxes

that doesn’t sound like

a life I am interested in

a deep dark hole of nothingness

one which escape is unforeseeable

then the thoughts of my parents

that died young come to mind

makes me more frustrated

rips at my soul

further hinders my ability

to elevate from this sink

so I pour another

and realize that tomorrow

is a different day

my wife and I 

finished the yard work and 

began on some inside chores

I put my earbuds in 

began vacuuming and

started a Brooklyn Drill

rap mix on YouTube 

I’ve been indulging in

UK Drill for a little while now

so I decided to give the

American counterparts a listen

to my utter disbelief

a fucking fried chicken commercial

actually broke into the mix 

less than 3 minutes in

I was utterly shocked

horrified

so embarrassed

how could they possibly play this?

I’m convinced my phone 

is listening to me

how else would it know 

of my absolute 

love for fried chicken

the dj moves 

with fluid-like 

precision to the music

a modern day shaman

guiding the subconscious

mapping the experience

with thumps

waveforms

sonics 

it’s hot

why is he wearing a hoodie?

too cool for school?

though he probably didn’t graduate

I kid

yet

I pass judgement

I guess I’m getting old

the lights just piss me off now

a strobe and laser beams

on whiskey

doesn’t have the same effect

as on ecstasy