Poem: Worms Can't Fly

Hey friends, long time no upload. Figured I'd start putting more of my poems back up on this while I wait to eventually think of other content to upload.
This poem is about stagnation like many of my others, but with a lot more in the way of specific detail, the title being stolen from a book I found working in the basement of a local charity shop

Worms Can't Fly

anchored in Athlone, might as well be open sea
anchored by aspiration or apathy?
either way I'm chainsmoking my way through the same gaps Johnny Hobo did
except my lullaby's not whisky
just the cheap, dirty cans brought home from the same repeating setpieces of shitty sessions
Alcoholism funded by the department of social protection
Offset by ten hours charity work, my altruism or an answer to how I spend my days?
Just another unanswered question, like "what are you going to do after graduation" or "what makes you happy?“
Perhaps escape is possible,
Or some measure of catharsis at least
But boys don't cry and worms can't fly
All we can do is bury ourselves deeper
But boys don't cry and worms can't fly
All we can do is bury ourselves deeper


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