by Aniket Sanyal
this one time I fed what little life I had left
with more than rotten fruit and fish could stymie
up to zero good besides 3D printed carrying capacity
critical mass thrice screwed me once I hit escape velocity
regular life crushed me too close to the real
meaning itself barely dared to breathe through my septum
three easy scores of bath salts for meathead logic in disrepair
braided alongside some rusty trick fingered attitude
fresh sleeved from which reincarnation again I forgot
these few just causes desired to settle old scores
further malaise and malcontent as buckshot sprayed
over yet another seething dumb appalled American mob
my psychosis babel sucker faith taught me
much too little about amoral mischiefs
if life tracks toward tasting saccharine before death
ones daily tantrums with mundanity tend to sour
we all heathens here at worlds end I reckon
get in loser: Yggdrasil awaits!
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Aniket Sanyal was born in Kolkata, India, and raised in the suburbs of central New Jersey. His work can be read at BRUISER, APOCALYPSE CONFIDENTAL, DON’T SUBMIT! and elsewhere online. Chat him up anytime on Twitter @AniketSanyal6 and Instagram @arjun__chai.
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