Poetry 1 - Carousel & Cake

Carousel,
Holden says you’re life.

An extended arm for a retracted prize,
on the last minutes of a Sunday
night leading into the final business week
of a regretful venture to mask the self-loathing
and hide the disinclination to produce.

The bitter urge to finish your work for them,
to blanket yourself in normalcy – or is it monotony?
I can never tell with synonyms.


Carousel,
won’t you stop?

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The Cake:

"The cake," he said
"is a lie."
I have tried for too long,
and I tread too close to failure,
and stood over too many nauseating heights.

The cake is a lie,
but I did the thing! On the list
of things I needed to do.
Overcame chronic laziness,
and for this?

No.
no, no, no
I don't care.
I will reap, I have worked.

The cake is a lie,
but I have tried.
The cake is a lie,
but I've lost this sweat.
The cake is a lie,
but I have climbed these steps.

Transparent reward.
The cake is a lie,
but everyone wants a slice.