GLASS HALF-FULLY POLLUTED

It was the dawn of another disappointment pains in the body blood in the mouth spat into the sink and swished around thoughts to be discarded and brought back up with the plunger of memory alas what a shitty instrument to have about convincing the torn paper with nonsense on it anyway that it cleaned something that filled and emptied and refilled with shit like this mind point with this finger to this head here.  Pull back to a coffin merging with a corner filled with grounds for dismissal dad doesn't like the entry again what we're saying being said the sides of the hurting head pump into the other side of the glass where blurry faces mumble colors to number stapled to questionnaires don't mention the part of the having trouble breathing when you talk no position whatever they offer won't slow won't thin out the heavy breathing don't tap for too long and then the broken record this should have been engraved a broken record that's what it always sounded like still sounds like when it's played back pulled back to a coffin merging with a corner filled with grounds for dismissal dad doesn't like the entry again what we're saying being said the sides of the hurting head pump into the other side of the glass where blurry faces what is that smell building up in my mouth it must be my words making me sick point with this finger to this head here.

The office was abandoned the air almost rid of the stench of people their chairs venting what their asses left behind food left in the refrigerator for weeks fuck the air upside down sunglasses that had been thrown on the desk pushing a paper clip through a hole for plugs cables someone pushed their chair back to look under the desk to see where the paper clip had fallen.

"What's wrong with you?"
"I'm sad."
"No, what's wrong with you?"

No don't get up where are you going? I hate it when someone walks away from a conversation and doesn't want to face it what I'm saying what I'm asking turning it off won't work this going on without you if you have to be dragged all the way through your walking away little person little knot twisted in on itself little rubber plastic end of the balloon of this little twisted end trying to tie this off this is on and will stay on until I say it is over and done with until I say later for you little twisted balloon end nobody come back here from down the hall you can hear me on the inside of the other end of the building.

"What's wrong with you?" 
"I'm sad."
"No, what's wrong with you?"
"I'm sad, I tell you."
"There is something very wrong with you."
"Sad is the fucking shittiest way to describe it."
"You do have a shitty way of describing things. Stop describing and admit you're weak. I just figured it out. That's what's wrong with you. You're weak."
"I'm sad and weak."
"And not as good as you think."
"I've rarely thought that I was good enough."
"And you like to slap that victim card noisily on the table."
"Right after I eat my own waste."
"You're proving my point."
"That's why I was brought into this world to prove someone else's point. I have been stuck on a spike and you jerk it around and make me say whatever it is you want me to say."
"Shut the fuck up."
"First you have to shut the fuck up. Do you hear that? Coming from the break room. Someone's probably taking what doesn't belong to them again. They look at your food and see your name on it and take it anyway."
"There's nobody in the break room."
"They found a way out. I haven't yet. More than likely I'll be going out as ashes inside a coffee can."

Paralyzed arguments squirm around
Flail their gassy defensiveness
Don't have a leg to stand on
That hasn't stopped the beating
of a chest of drawers
deposed stack of experiences
remember the way she warmed
the shitter for you
both of you
plugging up holes
stopping 
so much desert
room for the vapid
in all directions
spin yourself and fall
that way

The fly swatter itches with dirty blank stares pouring into them what's left over and recycled there was a manner in which it could be but not now maybe not tomorrow nothing will do it not a movie not a book not a carving not a slicing not a hearing not a voice not a smashing not a sound the fly swatter itches with dirty blank stares pouring into them what's left over and recycled used and reused mop water there was a manner in which it could be but not now maybe not tomorrow nothing will do it not a movie not a book not a carving not a slicing not a hearing not a voice not a smashing not a sound not a sound.


- Max Stoltenberg