Last Year

A zig zagbecame so good at zagging,
a chorus tried to coerce zag
to not zig;
mellow little zig zag,
thought that zigging would make him
an artist of the heart,
if he felt that zigging
described how felt
so he scribbled
instead of zigging,
and dragged his cuffs
instead of wearing a suit
that wasn't his.
"but life is beautiful
when the moon is full
your words are ugly
and you need to learn melody"
said a stern looking elder
woman from some crowded pocket
of family
Magically,
I zagged when I should've zigged
and everything tasted like
my family described--like some sort of success
I didn't want,
some ugly poem
that read beautifully;
resplendence from a neon light,
and I wish, that I could die
but it wouldn't erase
the memory and marks--the trace and tracks
desicrated deserted draftless
fucking disguised, and now i'm left alone
and not the alone I wanted
all this time
Everything I taste,
tastes like silver,
and my fingerprints are green
and my morals are dollars
and my family's digging my grave
and reaching in my pocket
all this time,
I should've zigged
instead of zagged.