extra...


I’m lost in the chase and I
Can’t find what I need.
Too much
All around.
Even the air is saturated to a sickening consistency.
No particle unnoticed.

Where is it?
Where is the fucking thing I need?

Why am I running?

How am I supposed to find anything in this fucking mess?

My vision is entirely polluted
With the excess
Extra.
Extra everything.

Not one thing I fucking need.

Yet the “everything-but” hunts me down
Surrounding me like crows would, swirling hungrily
Lower and tighter and thicker and crazier
Driven by the sweet smell of rotting carrion
No less obvious
Than a thousand putrid carcasses on a hot summer day

I am hunted, in fact, I’m
Sought out as if important
Trapped in the entrapments
That so many others seek out
Intentionally. Greedily.

It’s nothing I fucking need
Not that I would know what I need
If they asked me.
Whoever they are.

Now I know why I run.

What are my odds of getting away?
Someone run some statistics on my predicament.
Yes. I need some figures.
Like I need a hole in my head.
Or maybe that’s it.
A lobotomy! Sure.
Sometimes I just don’t know what else to do.
OK, ok. All the time I don’t know what to do.