Complainers

broken over the knees of phantoms
bleeding resentment
angry at what can’t be changed
angrier at what can,

not giving a fuck or taking one
hearts afloat in bitterness
like sponges at a high school car wash

raising funds for the funeral of hope.

they don’t want to hear it
they already know it
they’re eating themselves
with needless rage,
fine,
except they always
chew so loudly.

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