Shonen Weekdays, or some of my incohereent nightmares

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The impossible task

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I am Feeling like I am already dead I want to know, why? is there no hope that this life will improve or is it a posture? or worse   can       I         not            face the                  sincerity The unironic bleakness of trying to be honest To myself for once This isn't the time for rhyme and meter whatever time it is it is close to midnight The glow from the screen of my laptop as I type honesty is respecting your time without it becoming the business of being a door-to-door salesman of framing every indignity I have seen this week betrayal, coercion, and goodbyes of being blamed     and threatened without even knowing why I keep telling myself The impossible task of this poem Is being interesting but sane
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What if Oedipus was my dad? (a reframing of the past.)

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