Critique my Soul

Dynamic criticisms,

And hollow directions full of filthy guts

Swirl around the room

Like annoying gnats around my eyes.

What am I saying?

What exactly am I trying to chase down?

The reality?

The absolute?

Or the things that make me feel good?

I think we are the same,

Both full to the brim with rot and icky muck.

I fling my irritations into the abyss of blackness

That we both seem to be traveling into,

Sinking down, down, and down.

I think I feel tired,

Exhausted even,

With the twists and turns.

I don’t want to care anymore.

I don’t want to be nice.

I think I’ll find a spot to sit,

Put my thinking feet up.

You can join me too, I suppose.

We might have something in common,

And maybe sitting in the quiet will help us find out what.