i’m more or less than a nothing,
expectations can only be broken,
i’m worse than something rotting,
my name is rarely if ever spoken.
tears follow me mostly everywheres,
where ever and when ever I ever go,
nobody really ever dares or cares,
but they all think that they know.
i only exist for the benefit of them,
my part is of little or no interest,
to them i’m in it for zero to zen,
if it works for them the only test.
people’s cups are half empty or full,
mine has a big hole in the very bottom,
when people talk it’s rhetoric & empty bull,
i experience much conflict and bad sarcasm.
my day weekends are empty,
having only a single friend,
they treat me like a crazy,
headed quickly to the end.
there is ring panic present,
each and every painful day,
i’m a thing they must resent,
less than human in every way.
i can’t be the one you expect to have,
that person simply must not ever exist,
the want is there to be part of a halve,
to get what’s needed you must persist.
Your bottomless pit is filled up with dark,
the emptiness is not meant to be returned,
the very good kind of dirty is your trademark,
the product you make is meant to be burned.
i now know your unknown secrets and encrypted code,
nothing’s permanent even merged centers of gravity,
the deal will be concluded and the case closed,
like speeding blindly down a dead-end alley.
dead beat poet 