Old Husks from Muck by Dikembe

I honestly can’t say a single nice thing
Or much of anything for all of these insects
And their empires
Holding old husks

But I can say
I don’t miss the days
Of being a pawn or a martyr in somebody’s imperfect game
When the shows I take
Mean more than the points I make
Like how I say things that the earth shouldn’t take
How I’m screaming out
Like all the time
In hopes that these hang-ups will somehow unwind
When these terrible scenarios seem like all I know
So I’ll pack up some feelings to take to the grave

And I honestly can’t say a single nice thing
Or much of anything for all of these insects
And their empires
Holding old husks only for themselves
Only for themselves
A little insight into hell
A little comfort for our shells
And we stay cause it’s safe there

I admit I’m content
With this feeling of constant
Relapsing, reviving, then lying in wait
When the unhinged start of all these things I pull apart
Replace them with magic until it’s just not the same
A chorus line, set to off-half-time
Piece of the puzzle not quite set in frame
Then it creeps in like a soft wind
And I feel it all over like old, chipping paint

But the real world is compelled to spin
I wish that I could have felt anything since

Fuck all these insects and their empires
Holding old husks only for themselves

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