Waiting to hear back from a job, spent the last 20 hours watching torture horror flicks, avoiding negative thoughts.
Tyrant Hum
I juice suffering, swaddled rib crackingly
tight inside late morning, the sun persistent,
unemployment flaccid, loyalty malignant.
Everything I engage in makes me sick -
my pet tasks most of all. Keeps melancholia
at bay, the scripted suffering, celluloid carnage
keeps me sane as all round my dreams become
reality and my hope cloys to sour mist.
Does the nectar of your suffering taste scripted?
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