🍟 Super-Sized Salvation
A slam-style reflection by Bishop :( :
A poem about grief, hunger, and the quiet kind of self-destruction that still says “I’m fine” at the speaker box.
Sometimes comfort food feels holier than hope.
I took a moonlit stroll
among thoughtless dreams
and dreamless thoughts.
Never near and never far
from where we are.
Faces flashed —
those of the now
and from the past.
Promises given with great fervor,
actions as empty
as the thoughtless dreams
and dreamless thoughts.
Stumbling through this onslaught
as though in a fever dream,
replaying the prices paid —
but only by one.
The penalties of friendship
as the stable one.
The drinks long empty,
and the debtors long gone.
The repayment...
a lesson one very long.
The trail of promise
played out like a song —
but I can find no one to sing
as the boundaries hold tight.
A lesson hard learned
to keep the windows tight.
The circles grew smaller,
but I did not freight.
The faceless masses
do not offer a morsel
to all but a few.
Saving crumbs
to make a feast
for a fool found anew.
Always the peacekeeper,
but never at peace.
This tangled web of sorrow —
it will not do.
The pride of accomplishment
overshadowed
by those who, given everything,
chant ’tis not enough.
“Eat, drink, and be merry with us —
but pay the bill when due,
friend.”
The darkness — not silent,
but very alone.
The memories
for which I must atone.
I have been weighed,
I have been lost,
yet somehow measured.
The spicy darkness cries aloud
with chants of destruction —
all available
at the window of my demise.
Can I get that in a super size?
All this ambition,
without the sweet fairy
of motivation.
The dreams witnessed
through the glassy eyes
of dissociating with fries.
These calories tell no lies,
but harken to time long since past —
of my sweet grandmother’s demise.
News served with a Happy Meal...
what a prize.
My sweet addiction
to extra value meal perdition.
My constant friend
of all hours numbered twenty-four.
Pay the price
and eat some more.
Win this race
and you too
can be never more.
Small the circle
that knows such truths —
filled with honesty
and nothing more.
Concerns circle with love,
but the reminder
of self-salvation
as the only option anymore.
To fight one’s demons
must be done in 1v1.
The sanity of depression’s insanity
must be cast aside
to beat the tide.
To fight this insanity
is not vanity —
it’s a struggle
against the oppression of self
to finally be one’s self...
forever more.
After my week’s of being absent, I finally poured myself a glass of inspiration, shook off the chains of depression, and attempted slam poetry.
Bishop :(:
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