Old Husks

I honestly can’t say a single nice thing

Or much of anything for all of these insects

And their empires

Holding old husks

But I can say

I don’t miss the days

Of being a pawn or a martyr in somebody’s imperfect game

When the shows I take

Mean more than the points I make

Like how I say things that the earth shouldn’t take

How I’m screaming out

Like all the time

In hopes that these hang-ups will somehow unwind

When these terrible scenarios seem like all I know

So I’ll pack up some feelings to take to the grave

And I honestly can’t say a single nice thing

Or much of anything for all of these insects

And their empires

Holding old husks only for themselves

Only for themselves

A little insight into hell

A little comfort for our shells

And we stay cause it’s safe there

I admit I’m content

With this feeling of constant

Relapsing, reviving, then lying in wait

When the unhinged start of all these things I pull apart

Replace them with magic until it’s just not the same

A chorus line, set to off-half-time

Piece of the puzzle not quite set in frame

Then it creeps in like a soft wind

And I feel it all over like old, chipping paint

But the real world is compelled to spin

I wish that I could have felt anything since

Fuck all these insects and their empires

Holding old husks only for themselves*