The World Poem by Kyle Harbinger

For me, closure can be found
in empty bottles and a glass piece
for me, I don’t believe,
that what is real is what I perceive.
I’m pissed, in fact- at the constant frustration
so I spit at the world and the whole population

things dissolve
into an empty bowl
held by a starving child.

with hope of hot food
rising from his skin
like a skunk that cant escape
-or a tree begging to die.

I forget who I am, and find it in a tune
dwell with a smoke and be depressed
like the moon
but more like a geezer
awaiting his death
or the underlying pain in the deepest breath.