God Only Gives Us What We Can Handle
Looking into my neighbor’s eyes,
The cigarettes burning behind their pupils
their woodend irides,
It’s evident those words
Are just Bee smoke bullshit
Are fentanyl soaked eyes
Just aqueous humor for you?
I don’t see the humor
[at least I can see]
How can my brother’s eyes
Relay anything besides
Tinctures of titrated smiles,
Writing by candlelight is my only connection to the past
I don’t know if I’m a tea merchant or stockbroker
My name might as well be a serial number
On a wood pallet
Or perhaps cornflakes
Detached from the past, how is there purpose?
No wonder the anxiety is floating
A dirigible mess
Waiting to catch ablaze
My notebook is too close to this candle
My heart is to close to my brain--
Maybe my writing is a half-cooked chicken
And I should push closer
Towards the flame
To burn down this dimly lit apartment complex.
I don’t know if this contains meaning anymore
Or just stylized ramblings
The Allostatic load of my hatred is too much.
I can’t bear this,
Yet I know how to slash tires
And hide my humanity--
Under my bed
Under the carpet
A few feet from hell.
Stoic pettiness and romantic fires
Are all I have left.
If only it was nothing
If only we never coexisted--
As magnetic foils
If only I was as discriminatory
If only I was ignorant of ignorance
(Austin Vertesch is a student at Indiana University. He writes unclandestine garbage)
The Beautiful Space-