I Can't Wait For Death

And finally take one last breath

where hands of Seth

Thomas no longer clock

freed at last from cataclysmic aftershock

reverberating thru every baited cell

after quaking mine flinty bedrock

well nigh since birth zapping bloodstock,

 

an existence fraught with chronic anxiety/

panic attacks convulsing lovely bones,

where anorexic buttock

evinced bloody need dulled deadlock

cramping puberty averse

to let young manhood defrock

childhood's end aghast

(as would Alfred J. Prufrock)

assisting administering electroshock

coursed across every marrow

buzzfeeding mine famished

emaciated skeletal feedstock

self starvation jamming body electric

grave situation forced hand,

where mother intervened

to break-fast gridlock

i.e. pathologically hell bent

to render null and void yours truly

vanishing into black hole

(son) disappearing mock

curry of pathetic existence,

an arrow escape,

when grim reaper did nock

bowed, deplored, vied

against innate willpower

deadbolted with padlock

suffocating lifeforce pitted

with devastating indelible pock

marks still evident as I schlep

along cratered, gutted, pulverized...

impassable singular stairway to heaven

resembling bombed roadblock

finds me tethered, suspended,

roped... hanging lock

stock and barrel atop gaping abyss

mull echo chamber,

where sounds of silence tick tock.