Theunderbar

Should I die tonight,
does this legacy 
of rambling
so easily capture as 
the dry moans of
midnight thunder,
the shaken masses;
flashing my love letters
down deep thrombosis
of their breaths.
Licking clean their contented
smiles,
byte by byte. 

IDKWNTHT, but,

Do you ever wonder,
in a million voices
screaming at you;
hey,
why am I such a loser
piece of garbage?
And you know,
you know,
it’s coming from somewhere -
past, present,
whatever.
Then you realize, 
it’s just one voice:
it’s just yours. 
Even as you write
you know
you know
you can never share this
because relatable trauma only,
please.