angsty poetry bennett may have written like, now

this oppressive malaise

this malarious limbo

this charnel house of moldering hopes

o life bereft of babes and boulevardiering

your air thick with the smell of laundry detergent and wet earth

and everpresent with the slight, ominous scent of sulfur

as if perpetually on the verge of some big, big stroke

i gag on the ripe effluvium of your ennui

within these seemingly harmless bedroom walls

of soft and sedating Benjamin Moore

something rots abominable

a coffee can filled with shit immured behind the plaster

or maybe a dead rat (either way, it's gross)

and yet not far off i can see the city

lit up something simultaneously horrifying and marvelous 

like a Christmas tree on fire

and yet not far off i can hear the bonhomous fizz

of all those drunk dialogues

nattered over a digital symphony of ill-advised sexts

i might run through each ear with an awl

to spare myself the mockery of this tarty champagne serenade

God, grant me a grind that will wear me down me to powder

let me idle away my youth in relationships

that kick around like empty soda cans

let me drink more than i should at happy hours

and dance on tables at the Patriot

let me glimmer and bray like the golden ass 

every twentysomething deserves to be

just spare me from this dirge of suburban life

just spare me this gulag on a kraken