Countdown to Nothing.

Everyone’s asking

What I plan to do

To ring in the bring

Of another year, new

Can’t seem to communicate

Clearly to you

Can’t seem to articulate

The words I mean to

The parades on the street

Leave me wanting to puke

the commercials on TV  

And the anchors on the News

Another year gone

Another comes right on queue

Three hundred sixty five

And I’ve got nothing to show to you

Just another day and night

The New Year offers nothing new

Just another song and dance

For a crowd that blows darts at you.

This Year.

This year’s irony
Oh twenty fifteen
Has played itself out
Like an old guitar string.

This year’s misery
Been weighing heavily
Been transforming all
And ruining everything.

This year’s changes
Make it quite hard for me
To look up the road
And see any good thing.

This year’s reality
A bullet through each knee
And nothing has successfully
Stopped the bleeding.

This year’s finality
I can’t help but to perceive
As if the tolling of a new year
Will bring an end to me.

Next year’s poetry
will have a different ring
Words to precious legacy
Or some other stupid thing.