SISYPHUS, MY GOLDEN BUG
Rolling up the Hill, my wounded heart,like a golden beetle pushing around a piece of shit.
Black and White, everything to extremes, my mind split.
...Is living smart?
(The idiots are watching television non-stop)
"I don't want to work." (Is writing a crime?)
(I can't bear the Wasting of my time).
...But I still need to thaw that bastard's head
and then
(cut off, dismember,
and then even chop it up).
(I might hypnotize myself and pretend all is good)
...Sisyphus, my Golden bug, is shitting again!
(I am sick of this!!)
I'm going to pick him up by his hind legs
and throw him down into the drain.
Or maybe,
learn from him...
and keep on happily rolling that ball of manure (which is my life)
until it ends,
or
(The police stop me).
(Yeah, Delivering the Goods!)
...And for that Bastard?
(Hmm?)
...I will bury the rest of the body in the woods.
(Yeah, that's right).
Poetry by Golden Minotaur
Read 186 times
Written on 2025-08-26 at 11:37
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