Hopefully, by this time tomorrow
the ground under my feet
will start to crumble
and the fight of my life will arise
like the stock market crash of '08
please please please
give me something to keep me going
to at least,
if anything,
keep me afloat

I don't care if its in pills
or hidden in my ills
I want to breathe in soot and black and smoke
I want to laugh out joke
while always keeping an eye open
to the wayside

I wrote a letter
to the editor
and he,
in his big fucking chair
with a box of expensive cigars
looking out of his corner suite
across a sea of knickknacks and paperweights
to the world below
did nothing
just
counted his inheritance
and wiped his ass with happiness

I am the heartache that doesn't exist
I am the American dream that slowly fades away
I am the intellect that never amazes
and my existence
is bound
to slip right down the rabbit hole
to a fucking shit hole town
in middle America
middle fucking America
if that's whats left
when I arrive

If I get there.