Enough Already

Never good enough.
never.
what we once thought was clever
has obviously become
the epitome of nothingness, everywhere.

North American poems should always be in iambic pentameter.

She said "yes."
he said "maybe"
we said "what the fuck,"
and all those in between just said "get a job already."

Seriously, enough already.

The words coming out of her mouth
make less sense than they did yesterday
and yesterday, she wasn't even alive yet.
She was dead.

(in fact, I still have my doubts
as to if it's really her that's breathing
in and out of her chest,
or if it's her soul who is trying to escape his cozy tomb.)

and all those in between said, "you're fucked. aren't you, baby."

Enough, already.
stuck between a rock and a hard place
and a rock hard alibi
that has been displaced,
the many onlookers cat call the guilty parties,
and the guilty,
just plead "insane"
(as they always do)
trying to avoid all pain
(or at least as much as they can though)

never good enough,
dead or alive
or barely half breathing.
she slips and falls
and it all falls to the ground
and yet the safety net she carried around,
was the very thing she slipped on.