[Chickenbone]

This is from the angry days of college.
I was sick of things... and I really don't expect anyone to understand my poem...

I’m suffocating
I’m dying
Underneath this stress

I’m sick of thinking
I’m sick of making words
For bull - like this

I’m hating every minute
I’m wasting all my time
On what is not even important to me

I’m not seating my priorities right
I’m not even sure if I want to
It’s my own fault I’m - up

I’m caving in
I’m begging for it
My down fall isn’t far away

I’m slacking off
I’m to tired to keep it up
My poetry doesn’t even seem sufficient enough

I’m far from a perfectionist
I’m not what I wanted to be anymore
I blame this on you

I’m just trying to point you out
I’m not even sure if you are the reason
You’re just what I find to step on

I’m ending this now
I’m pulling away
Because my words are just to - up