Decel Pops

I’ve been saying ‘I’m lost’ a lot.
It’s not because I don’t know where to go (people keep giving me maps)
only that I’ve lost the poetry of life.
The world is too loud, I tell myself.
Too many red faced prophets with bulging eyes and grinch-fingered opinions–
might as well leave the cannon fire and decel pops to the mob. 

Though in doing so, I’m killing myself. 
I’m wilting into overgrown disrepair;
A waste of words and a bedridden adverb.
A scared machine that turns love letters into smoke signals.
When the block gets bombed and crumbles around me,
you’d think I’d have more to say other than “I miss you”.

The world doesn’t listen to me,
It never will.
In fact I wish they wouldn’t, 
I’d only encourage them to shut up and jump
and make them promise to tell me how they feel in the morning–
if I ever stay awake long enough to be up that early.