after the fourth

getting wasted drunk

I was getting so wasted
the streets grew silent
or perhaps sounds were becoming
insensibly vague
weight
WEIGHT
excruciating weight
descended upon me
or perhaps sprung from my loins
and buried me
I was immobile
sterile
or perhaps close
to becoming a rock
that lasts
for centuries or eons
but doesn’t
care

 

 

Nihilistic Poetry