artaxdrowns

ARTAX DROWNS IN
THE SWAMP OF SADNESS

oh friend, the theatre in the

barrel of my chest

speaks in monologues of despair

rib-bones curled around grief-

stricken stage, tightly clenched fist

finally opening, only to be

holding nothing at all.

you always told me this

wasn’t worthless, the rolling

of boulder up a hill. but

what’s a liar to a cart-horse?

my finger is stuck in the dam

i’m supposed to keep plugged

and everyone drowns anyway.

didn’t you say it would be

worth it? didn’t you?

your voice crackles like tv static,

carpet static, sitting cross-legged

in a dark room where adults stand

upright and say to your face that

what you are doing is wrong

and that you should be ashamed.

and oh— the cracking that splits air

only the stage supports-

wood buckling and twisting;

creaking loudly under the weight

of everything the story is trying

to tell us, but i don’t know

who to believe anymore.

there’s barbells in my stomach

and they don’t love me like you do;

the journey has already taken so much

and we’re still so far away.