Waking up

…Suddenly you wake up from slumber,
feeling cold but refreshed by sleep,
and then you remember your sorrows,
for the sweet oblivion is gone for now,
and the world needs to be dealt with,
the bills have to be paid somehow,
the work of the day performed anyhow,
no matter the state of your mind,
you cope as you’ve coped for so long,
pushing your desires deep within you,
keeping all your priorities straight,
disregarding your dull aching heart,
using caffeine or cannabis or both,
trying to put on a somber smile,
for the world is to see your facade,
& you hoping they never see your heart,
for in there lurks that wish denied,
that monster urging you on to suicide,
for you’ve had enough of this mess,
for its loves seem weaker to you,
than its horrors that you’ve borne,
the ecstasy of life unable to compare,
with the pounding that it performs,
so you light a cigarette to clear your mind,
as you enter the latrine to extrude shit,
once a day at least it needs to be done,
the clearing of the bowels if not the heart,
if only it were that easy to clean that pump,
so that it may push blood instead of ashes,
the accumulations of sorrows eaten,
but never digested or dumped out alas!
festering within, creating acrid gases,
that may burp out at inopportune times,
making you look a fool for the world to see,
for farting in polite company is frowned upon,
while a burp may get away with mere giggles,
so you keep you peace by doing none,
by beaming with the face if not the eyes,
and keeping your reflux in check,
and your asshole puckered up tight,
while telling stories funny and nice,
and being the life of all parties,
by making everyone guffaw at jokes,
and at antics and impersonations,
while keeping sealed all containers,
of the skeletal remains of losses,
& hiding under silk shirts all scars,
that are yet unhealed O’ Dada,
this is your fate, bear it gracefully,
and if it’s too much, you may in solitude,
spit out poetry, that no one will read,
for its too dire, for them to admire,
too deep to please, too stark to appease,
their appetites, for this is truth,
while the world, runs on fallacies,
and base pleasures, of body and mind,
while you suffer, from the knowledge,
of a potential, that’s unfulfilled!
tis better you pray, for slumbers,
and sweet oblivion, and soon dear D;