Hell.

i don’t want to be here

absent are the pearly gates
only sliding doors that open robotically
with a horrid sound
like wiper blades on a dry windshield

absent are the choirs of angels
only echoes of so-called
“easy listening music” bouncing off
the millions of white tiles placed
perfectly throughout the kingdom

my soul approaches the massive structure
with a relentless feeling of dread
the words “i don’t want to be here”
repeating in my head

absent is happiness
only pain-filled expressions
of the other souls condemned
to this unimaginable hell

the worst kind of torture:
it never ends
i can leave this place but
the devil knows i will return
to endure the same excruciating pain
time and time again

I wrote this poem a few hours after getting home from the grocery store. This is the one chore I despise more than anything and I felt the need to express that in this poem. Wal-Mart is my hell, yet every week I find myself returning to this place. I have to eat and drink. I need medicine and toilet paper and alcohol. All of these things I need will eventually be depleted and I’ll find myself back in this hellish place. It’s a cycle that I will repeat until the day I die.

I’m not the only one. In 2021, Wal-Mart alone has an average of 240 million customers per week. We have come to rely on this one company for nearly everything. It’s truly astonishing.

Anyway, this is just what was on my mind this weekend. I hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving.