YOU GET SO ALONE AT TIMES IT JUST MAKES SENSE TO SCROLL


 “You Get So Alone At Times It Just Makes Sense To Scroll”


Shit Out By Carlo Bacchetta



society’s got a new hole in its roof,

and the rain, it just keeps coming in.

the newspapers scream about the fall,

the whole goddamn ship going down.


and I sat here, in this rented room,

thinking that was the ache in my gut,

the rot in my bone.


but the truth,

the truth is a flat, warm beer—

it’s not the world.


it’s me.


I watch the normal men.

the ones with their muscles,

their 2.5 children laughing in a tidy yard,

their portfolios fat and sleeping well.


they don’t taste the metal in the air.

they don’t see the cracks in the pavement

as a personal insult.


my problem is I never got the blueprint.

or maybe I swallowed it

and vomited it back up.


this artist thing,

it’s not a job, it’s a worm

in the brain.

it picks at the scab of everything.

it makes you stare at the wallpaper

until you see the face of the devil

in the floral print.


so the society goes to hell.

fine.

but it’s this worm, this needless thinking,

this goddamn awful noticing…


that’s the real curse.

and the rain keeps on.


AtilA

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