Oroborus

Why does the pain in the chest smell like the devilish blue ink from mother's writing desk?
At times when she'd stay lost over the dull foolscape, staring out at the wild bamboo grove,
Were those tender tips that swayed at the littlest breeze, like silly little puppies on a tail hunt, the chariot that she could never ride?

Square one now,
Where a broken heart is the perfect sedative for a lucid dream.
Just how did a purposeless chance world become this
Goa trip gone wrong?
And how on earth did I forget that I'm a speck
On a speck on a speck on a speck on a speck on aspeckonas..
That I suck.
Square one again,
Broken heart: the perfect catalyst for a ruined evening spent
shedding enhanced tears,
Performing practiced mastered mourns.

This makes me want to stain paper,
Like I am dead and reborn and dying again.
Why was I silent yesterday?

I want to find Hemingway
Shove an empty bottle down his throat,
See if his gag be poetic too.
But I know I misunderstand, I miscalculate, I misjudge.
Oh wait, it's been 15 minutes since I started with the first word,
The pain is spent,
The phone's beeping like hell,
There's a party I have to attend,
The world is beautiful again,
Hemingway had a good intent,
You are injurious to my health;
But so is the world.