January 9, 2026

I am worn down and worded out,

Wrung through the constant drum

Of the droll and the dull patterns

Forced from the highest platform

And the lowest scum.

Hand me that blunt

And let me employ it myself

To knock away at the edges 

Of empathy and apathy

Like a disappearing ice shelf.

Sorry if this seems abrupt,

Short and to the point.

Curt and cuffed rule the day

While fear owns the night

For all sharing this joint.