I can't go on. I will go on.

I am done with reading
done with it all!
the rising & the fall.

And how hard it is to right poetry,
Oh! when everything ways upon me,

I am nothing I meant to be.
But Am I what I wished to be?
Am I material
or aren't I thought?
Oh! how at first glimpse
we miss a thought!

So it snickers, it snivels
it fills the days' vessels with rot!

It rearranges-pre-arranges the days!

(it makes one hope for May)

This Neurotic, This Opague,
The cynical for cyclical shape.
It wants Its time rations for an
irrational sake!

It toils its time in toilets
swearing it is being the best
of a toilest!

It becquetts a Frey'd tag,
All while screaming there
never existed a name to tag.

Never!
Not Once!
Not Here nor There
Nor Anywhere!

It was all wept tears
without a trace of snot.

It was all a fiction of thought.