My Secret, Hidden Notebook

the tut-tutters
floppy fish in a bucket
wagging a mental finger at the one who slipped up and cursed
at the sky
you lack something vital and you know it
soggy match packs bent forward
trying to look down upon something
to make up for it
I’ll scream till your eardrum fucking explodes
and you’ll still be an empty noodle
unable to even daydream
still shaking your head
your mid-wit head
your unspoken superiority goes without saying
until the bloodless corpse finally
imperceptibily stops moving
someone yawns without a sound
as the inner abacus turns to dust and reforms
and nothing keeps caring
and nothing tsk tsk’s
just like before
you never happened