a tribute to my stress relief technique - sometimes you have to just not give @#!^.

I have been afflicted

with a fine ecstasy;

no semblance of

rational consideration.

Perceptive only to the

procession of my own

selfish stupor.

Confined by my errant jubilation.

My deterioration is revelation:


Gone is my penchant for the


no longer

to exert,

or speculate,

or trudge,

through gargantuan ordeals.

No longer

the pallid face

of progress

and prowess.

No coy mistress,

this dearth of awareness.

This liberal disregard,

integrated with

ample apathy,

in unison,

sings the volumes

of my


The End

0 comments about this poem Feed