8 Hours - Poem by Tyler Comstock
Sleep monger, oh gods of slumber
Take the moments not spent in perpetual inebriation
Churn them, with shards of unconscious truths
Bringing about the fantastic horrific ecstatic nightmare
Burdens less harsh than sobriety
Still feet on the ground, different from chemicals
Chemicals of psychoactive godliness
And of the inevitable suicide comparative pitfall into
Rock bottom, a term only applicable to clean air
Once loved, now unfamiliarly hated.
New and improved poverty worries my soul
Yes, make this my permanent residence
Amongst the fast breathing, fast beating, laboratory drip.
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