It can’t be the origin point
of a belief system.
Surely there was light along the way.
Was it hope dashed,
snubbed out like a cigarette on the sole of a boot,
that caused the black veil of ennui to lower?
Or could it be that societal abnegation
is a direct cause of the world’s gone rotten
and you along with it.
But instead of offering resistance or condolence,
like Anne Sexton wrote a children’s book,
it gives you a wedgie.
After all the buildup,
after all the flowers and ugliness,
nothing really matters anyway.
Or does it?
Maybe everything matters.
I hate being right.