it’s the end of the year and the rats are here
to feast on the carcasses left behind. what
a devastating year, they groan, you can
see it — seething in the eyes, the fear,
the monotony of ravaged lives jampacked
in shopping centers, defeated, trying to consume
their way out of their self-imposed bondage.
and the easily amused sit on couches
with sugary smiles
as they binge-watch their
the voices of dead poets’ float around
unheard, and the books of Dostoyevsky
collect dust while the prophecies of
Orwell and Huxley unravel as Nietzsche’s
Last Man sits comfortably numb among us
weak and tainted like the idle
blood in his elastic veins.
the frail, riddled with disease,
have found glory in their sickness.
frightened by life and fueled
they prey upon the strong
and paint their own feebleness
it’s New Years Eve, and a hollow
gaiety floods the streets
along with a heavy blast
to welcome in the
of a new age.
i pack a few essentials in my backpack —
and a knife
and walk out into it.