I Can't Wait For Death

And finally take one last breath
where hands of Seth
Thomas no longer clock
freed at last from cataclysmic aftershock
reverberating thru every baited cell
after quaking mine flinty bedrock

well nigh since birth zapping bloodstock,
an existence fraught with chronic anxiety/
panic attacks convulsing lovely bones,
where anorexic buttock
evinced bloody need dulled deadlock
cramping puberty averse

to let young manhood defrock
childhood's end aghast
(as would Alfred J. Prufrock)
assisting administering electroshock
coursed across every marrow
buzzfeeding mine famished

emaciated skeletal feedstock
self starvation jamming body electric
grave situation forced hand,
where mother intervened
to break-fast gridlock
i.e. pathologically hell bent

to render null and void yours truly
vanishing into black hole
(son) disappearing mock
curry of pathetic existence,
an arrow escape,

when grim reaper did nock
bowed, deplored, vied
against innate willpower
deadbolted with padlock
suffocating lifeforce pitted
with devastating indelible pock

marks still evident as I schlep
along cratered, gutted, pulverized...
impassable singular stairway to heaven
resembling bombed roadblock
finds me tethered, suspended,

roped... hanging lock
stock and barrel atop gaping abyss
mull echo chamber,
where sounds of silence tick tock.