The drooling lifetimes flutter
Amiss as a yearning millisecond,
I feel as though I should be enjoying
This assemblage - the booze, the
Haphazard clouds of hemp, the
Skimpy outfits, the distractions,
The gossip. The highlight of a
Collegiate, young adult hive mind.
I feel significantly distant, a slither
Of my pie chart psyche pleads to be
In the mob mind of an 'in crowd',
Lackluster, the striving athlete
Picks for straws, in any attempt of
Speaking out, speaking up in
Remembrance for a malnourished
Opinion. Arrogance, ignorance,
Intolerance, three flagrantly sour
Obscurities sketch away at my
Nostrils, poking away societal
Imperfections, the timeless
Beauty, poignancy in numbers
Of attempted conformity.
So, I return, the cowardice, in a
Campus revolving around innocence
Laced with fentanyl. Just having a
Little fun. Trying something different.
Life is about experiences.
I lie on the kitchen floor, whilst
Friends of mine tweak in the opposing
Room. I pity myself. I'm so pitiful.
I ease my way to the pantry,
Picking away at unresolved mental
Scabs that have glistened over in
Corn flakes, as a head rash, a stifling
Vibrant itchiness.
What could go wrong? It's only one.
We'll try a minimal, if it ends up
Being regrettable, I can just ask the
Holy Spirit for solemn forgiveness,
And to probe my mind of tonight.
I would not have meant
It to be any other way.
I stammer to the corridor doorway,
Leading to closeted beds, where
Reverberated squeaking and moans
Are rambling in an effort of competing
Dominance. I'm so pitiful. I pity myself.
You're conniving in the way you think
Of others. It's only a cheap thrill, nothing
To harm, of ill intent.
The ceiling appears as a rising summit,
A prism-like all-seeing vertex.
Visually bloodshot, I involuntarily
Fall fetal, streams pillowing down my
Facial creases, deterred pipeways
Causing additional pressure on my sinuses,
I'm a catastrophic, mach twelve million on
The Feeling Displaced scalar meter.
Everybody downplays the explosive
Indie trap blaring endlessly and notice
My blazed away sight, glancing at a
Bare wall, continuing to sip on an
Undocumented solo cup.
The most medicinal high of all, is
Living amidst your own mind, belittled
To yourself, unrequested by those around
You. Life in short, feels like a draft wind,
Shivering your limbs, as your soul is
On fire, gasping as its flames are being
Put out.
Gaining enough strength through the
Tribulations, I unbeknowingly step out
Of the rambunctious party.
YOU ARE READING
Shuttle Bus 17: A Poetry Collection
PoesiaPoetry from a discombobulated seventeen year old boy. From falling in love to hating parties to loving where you're from, I/you/he tries to truly understand life's prophecies through writing it all down.
