Why do I double-check my stats, a poem
Distractions, tear thought down 2 every nub.
am! Stat! Check Medium’s stats to C it umoved..
Even if murder or clicking doesn’t feel right, write,
ek, the Who-Dun-It Orient X-press is leaving boredom
Down through my navy Blu training pant, Depression?
o oversized fakes make Levis & Jordache cringe OP?
Wear down pixels & my mouse till they shriek pick-me-up
T(f)ear down ennui with a splash of grouped reality checks.
The 1s who applaud & love u love only ewe when u bleet hard
ask, scarlet & crimson are both cold mead on an addict’s soul.
Slow down my trigger finger reaching for a tired mouse,
ore? Was it cuz a razor’s edge on a train bound 4 Know-Were..
Recalling how now is as good as we will ever be with or without
right? Dreamer or renter, who taps the black rodent’s left rump?
No amount of wine or smoke & mirrors will get me farther than now
futures, just 2day from second to minute closer to expiration than..
Impossible to break orbit from countless stars each with gravity
mp, possible to treat rodents as off-tap, without frothy heads?
Cold Turkey? No other turnkey will get me to sobriety or satiety
old stats on Medium or over-prescribed meds abandon me at denial
From bullies on a vengeful prowl following a wounded prey
.from, clicking on stats like knockers banging on an empty home
Even refusals & denials can refuse & flood like serotonin in the happy few..
ll, Y can’t we? We who smoke let ashes invade us as dopamine & desire.