the draining feeling

i think we've all been there
that draining sinking greasy feeling
which coats your insides like Pepto Bismol
but instead of indigestion relief it turns
stomach butterflies into bats with claws
dulls your head and turns your good memories into
chiming flashes of horror movies
except you would welcome the hokey Freddy or
stomping Jason
i think we've all been there,
when inadequacy bites your brightest day,
and every friend seems distant on separate moons
little princes with sheep’s in drawn boxes
a different drummer in death dirges, surging with
nothing
where the whole world pancakes you with
dry Bisquick serum
where you know how not to feel
but it's like being at the bottom of a well
and their throwing scraps from the tiny lit up hole at the top
like, these compliments are tasty but I can't get myself to eat em
where’s the point?
i think we've all been there
that sickening bed-ridden Sunday afternoon where TV sucks
grays bundled with late awakening
and homework’s a joke
and every thought is a pang in the side of hope
everything is now
everything is past
nothing is future
cell with missed calls
cell with brick walls
cells where blood curdles
looking for the escalator which will bring you back to norm
out of order signs on every upward motion
an empty mall where the doors are locked and the lights are dim
and expression is told through retail
and ghosts of teenage hand-held's dance around your sulking body
i think we've all been there
where you sit on your friends couch and everyone is having fun
and suddenly things get weird
you don’t know why
and you make mock appearances to hold the table weight
but as soon as you leave the plates crash off to the side
the golden mean deceived and not divine
it's physical
its mental
its bland groceries and being single
its being together and fighting
its looking up in the sky and instead of seeing
the vast grand scheme of a trillion fires
and the potential for everything
you shrink at the tininess of life
think of death and the stinging bite
brought to you by the letters
h-e-l and P
your Oscar the grouch
your Helen Keller with clipped wings
your Diogenes the cynic
the dirty laundry piles
and i think we've all been there
where home is where the cold is
and the chill is in your spine
and the job is going no where
and your goals are caught in time
caged within a darkened skull
which it was never meant to be
and I never wanted to be that guy who sat glooming
wallowing in his own pity
the over privileged kid telling those less fortunate and more happy that life sucks
i don't believe it for a second
but this isn't about logic
or belief
or the warm halo which spins miles above where you sit
in the muddy chill of cold winds
in a Poe like house of leaves
where your best bet is sleep
but rotten energy courses through veins
like nu clear water through tall trees
and i never wanted this
large stinking mammal
hippopotamus promises
bronze doorknobs turning to reveal brick walls
i think we've all been there
and then you begin to crawl
towards a path where
vegetation peaks through concrete slabs on urban streets
and I’m mad max conquering the Thunderdome
lighting the path with a match and pack
in fact, this path is past its prime and I’m pouring new
angles inside of the melting pot
no drugs
no destiny
no emergencies
and it's a slow walk
Dylan said a hard rains going fall
and I’m wiping the sweat and inventing the wheel
I’m scrubbing the dirt and knowing the deal
coming out of it, how can i help my family
my friends
my fellow man
remove asbestos and get lead out of GI Joe's
remove the stalker which sometimes sneaks up out of no where and
takes hold of me
chloroform muffled
have a vigilant eye
by still walking forward
and i think we've all been there