my room is a mess
shit strewn everywhere
i lay on a shoddy futon
in front of this piece of shit information machine
and i read and hear

and in response i don't even think

'The horror,
the horror--'

too afraid to check my bank account balance--
enough is enough is enough is enough--

i play a song with the appropriate bpm's
as to Amen my way out of
another appropriation of
World Affairs

is it enough to say that something is Wrong
in a vague whimper and
is it fair to want the World end
without lifting a finger?

the reality is there are some things
that i will not allow myself to understand
because i am nineteen, and yes,
almost twenty,

outside my window is a simple tree swaying to a holy wind
inside my mind is a simple innocence distraught by lost intentions
--and our world is so incestuous to
this premise of suffering gropes
all our immediate sprawling joys

that leave us with nothing
but our own disenchantment

i hear the discord
and i cannot cover my ears
i read the news
and i cannot stop reading

as my soul wrenches and cowers and contorts
turning to some labyrinth--
unable to simply exude or
simply resonate

the modern world is not a dance
it is a march, and even then,
it is a trampling

to sway in
enrapture,
to be convinced and
convincing

is all i could ever hope to want

but we must attack, pre-emptively
and we must always fight a war
of prompt disillusion

enough is enough is enough

as a child,
i am eternal and joyous
and ecstatic--harmonious to a world
of chiming laughter rather than the maddening barks
and explosions and disembodied war cries

i will be whole
i must be whole
i will be whole.