The Baggage

By Pete Conrad

On days like today that baggage
becomes nearly impossible to carry.
I’m weighted down with feelings
of inadequacy
and failure.
There’s nothing for me
and few people give a damn.

I loathe going into society.
Of knocking on doors.
And eating fast food.
On days like today I’d rather
gouge out the eyes of humanity
and watch them suffer.
You did this to me.

It’s your blood that has tainted me.
Your blood courses a desperate madness.
It boils over and when it does
sometimes takes days to cool down.
And you’ve left me no answers.
I only question and grow panicked
because I fear the answers.

So, I scream and gouge at my own eyes.
I weep silently in the shower
and pray for a gentle cancer.
The seatbelt light warns as
I veer towards the maple.
It’s a beautiful killing tree, I think.
But I turn back at the last moment.

Because your blood runs through my veins.
I pray that you don’t suffer what I suffer.
I hope the dilution is evident in a mind
so young and vulnerable.
It’s a small, yet consuming, baggage.
I gladly carry it for you but sometimes
the trip becomes entirely too long.

And I grow weary.

One day, soon, you’ll need to put a hand
on the baggage.

The Baggage

Created: Mar 16, 2010


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