dross – a sonnet

i wanted to stop this insanity
and pushed and cajoled. myself, of course.
no-one else is the maker, the doer,
the procreator of this continuous dross.
dross, people, is a mass of solid impurities
that floats on molten metal.
so this dross, it stuck to me
in the form of wasting my time,
treating it badly, like shit, as if god
had tossed it to me to piss on, cut it up,
crumple it, step on it, just like old dirt,
worse than dirt, unimportant, forget it.
i’m still wanting to stop it. but can i do it
by staying here, on this computer?