WHY?
Arbitrarily reincarnating happy recollections while
Indifferently treading down a common, tame and dull conduit
Uninterestingly, mechanically moving through a passage so
Familiar and borderline monotonous
Entranced in the sound of your own careless jubilation
Whistling a merry melody and taking in a moment
Unaware of the foot-destroying hazard up ahead
Inconsiderate, until the agonizing contact
In a sudden twinkling of seconds, did the ancient roots of
Maple trees impede upon the avenue
Intended specifically to place your step upon in what can only
Be regarded as deliberate and calculated spite
Altogether pain is now engulfing as it radiates away from your
Obliterated happiness
Becoming intravenous and constricting as a vine
This occurence will forever be an instant that you came to be...
CAME TO BE SO
TANGLED IN DISCOMFORT
Now, curled to the position of a fetus, writhing miserably and
Cursing out your diety
Frantic fingers of your wavering appendages collide into a
Pile of wood, resting at your sides
Splinters, god damn, motherf*cking splinters, covering the
Palms of your hands and your finger webbing
Utterly creating new obscenities to screech
Out into the otherwise unremarkable affair
Looking up into the heavens for assistance, noticing a nest in
The crevasse of the maple trunk
As the gooey and gelatinous tree sap creeps unto the surface of
Your skin, comes and audible hum
Wasps, swarming at the scent of the sweet, aromatic substance
Clinging to your flesh
Rising to your feet, you flee as the pollen from the flowers
Of a nearby field enter deep inside your eyeballs...
CAUSES YOU TO BE...
TANGLED IN DISCOMFORT
Oh, is there no justice in this
Seemingly hopeless endeavor?
How can it be right for every
Square inch of available being to
Be in a state of pain?
Oh, i've become so acutely aware of
The space in between my toes
And my hair follicles do revolt at
The uncomfortable feeling they are
Currently in...
Finally make it through the woods, covered up in welted
Puncture wounds, but no longer navigating through the wicked
Halls of nature
Coming up upon a door to a small house, hoping for a path that
Could lead to a salvation
Only opening to beckon you to come inside, but in a tone that
Is hope annihilation
What could await just beyond the open door? what is menacing
About this entire situation?
Standing in a room, surrounded by a mass of individuals
Disregarding all personal space
They hover, creepily, inches from your neck and speak ever
Delicately, so you feel their humid breath
Topics only do partain to the awkward, and with a twinge of a
Dry and sticky back throat
As they gradually encircle all around you, and brush by so
That only your arm hairs entwine...
CAUSES YOU TO BE...
TANGLED IN DISCOMFORT