Sunday’s guilt

A Poem

By Pippa Browning

Happiness threatens me
shadows clog me
I would just hate to leave
this brothel of youth this early
but time is hunting
Injected labels
summon restless pride
among all this goddamn mooching
Holy inertia narrates
strewn survival
and kingdom come nags
Senile treasures hide
in mirror eyes like
corkscrew minds
whiplashing whatnots
I’m gargling lunacy
like a naughty child
and it burns my insides
Veils waft between me and them
and I’m my own submarine of truths
once again