Skip the Youth

Is this all the luster left

of the young heart?

Plugging holes

Looking for transcendence

In odd places

Feeling oddly unsatisfied

Underworked and overtaught

While the grind thaws away

at every artistic part of you

Drinking

Drinking

Drinking copious amounts

Drowning inside the hops

and barley to search

for a release or a delayed morning

Outdoing and excelling

at miscommunication

Strands constantly missing

Threads lost

Thrown across the floor

Like junk mail

They say that

Arrogance

Invincibility

Youth

Is wasted on the young

But what about hunger?

Satisfaction?

Purpose?

When does the aching stop?

When can one stop fantasizing

And actually pretend to exist?

If these are the spoils of youth

Let me take the nearest exit

To pruned hands and crows feet