You can’t get no…

My sweater blows up like a sail

The wind is whistling through the weaving

No rabbit led me here, I am myself

Quite great at swaying my survival instinct

To live for pleasure translates to falling down a well

Now ‘bout to cut into clear waters, my uneven breathing

Contracts 

As flickers momentary pain, 

Then ripples into joy of touching coolness, stillness, azure ether…

I am at peace. Nirvana.

And then my awkward being

Twitches in a rude reminder 

That I suck at swimming.

As I taste the sweetness of French baking marvels,

It digests into hate for things my body finds appealing.

As I put down my phone 

And wipe my hand upon 

The covers

The pleasure twists and turns inside my stomach Until I’m bent over the toilet kneeling.

As I indulge in lack of duty, my eyes go red and dry and heavy

And I doze off with phone in hand, but weary

Aware of the debility tomorrow and blindness in a decade’s time,

What evolutionary blunder, that following my body’s fancies seems to kill it in its prime.

I promise to my French swirled bun it is my final sacrifice to blues.

The body sends a clue, my heartbeat Morse codes: fuck it.

Lustful and literal by nature, I wind up sore and sad and feeling used

And once again my pleasure leaves me praying I recover.

And as I drown in clearest, milkiest, smooth spring waters,

I’m starting to suspect I am a joke

Destined just to fight my body.

The punchline is that what I want

Is always wrong, and much like a bomb I’m wired.

Too fat to float, too dazed to try,

Too helpless but too satisfied

I guess all that is left is just to die

I’ve tried the earth’s riches and I wasn’t even trying

That makes them worthless. UberEats took joy out of indulging.

It is no longer a thrill - desiring. In this cornucopia I’m drowning.