college kettle

tipping the kettle
has never been more unsettled –
like factories, radio on repeat;
we tip and pour,
information turned sour.
left to rot for too long,
in the confines of rotted thoughts,
rotted cots, birthing
nothing.

pour, pour
gorge on the downpour,
till the brain splits,
or the heart breaks –
whichever comes first;
the kettle never stops.
don’t die, they say
people haven’t had the priviliges you have –

what privilige is there in drowning?

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