“Kid, don’t play my strings / I will never reoccur in existence.”
~Shawki Abi Shakra
...
To keep going is no merit,
Pretending respect to some unworthy, or
To serenade under scattered windows,
That many at a time, to exist.
No coffee this morning, no mood to meditate
Nor to strum a chord, and
The browsing drug becomes sore.
No calling you doctor
Things have been and will ever,
Never be your fine!
From a sweet slumber do awake none.
How a few uttered letters evoke that terrible response?
Long prescriptions of anti-depressants, mixed up advice,
And in-admittance offers,
Just because you spoke, the word chuckling,
Meaning not to argue the comedy, of
A boring cynic who has no gallbladder, and
That is all, which way leads anyway, car keys!?
…
Having been just back from a short drive
By and by checking a specimen of the ruin
Freshened and revived, was
The chest under bandages
No help but to resume the random revenge
Against,
The beautie offenses of Becoming.
Scale Fixing 