I am abhorrently uninspired

Words dribble from my mouth like burped up bourbon
I am boring, disheveled, with razor bumps all over my face
Bags hang low off the deep circles around my eyes
I don't even know why I go to bed anymore

My wardrobe is a combination of the mundane and the gifted
My hair has cowlicks that are poorly held down and combed out with pomade
That hair grows more grey every day, mocking an underwhelming existence wasted
My ears have gauges, my body has tattoos, and these things do nothing to ail my complete lack of styling, image or personality

I am a twisted amalgamation of things desired and things forgotten
A grey blob splattered with color is a grey blob all the same
I am simply another numbered ball desperately begging to be chosen at your local lottery

In a house with all grey walls, vinyl planking, and cheap decor
The blinds on my windows are dusty and broken, with no drapes to hide them
My home is like the apartment of a 20 something that has the funding to purchase easy to assemble makeshift furniture and cheap mass produced art
Incense and candles burn constantly to mask the scent of my impending death and the desperation in evading it

Perpetual intoxication is a peninsula
on which your psyche stands and
mindlessly gazes out at the water to watch
your body slowly drown in the sea.

When the only options are
a sober swim back to the shore
or merely persisting in your mindless gaze,
it's easy to forget that there's a choice at all.

I remember the look in our eyes.
The way they gleamed when we saw one another.
The way a child sees the open world.
Full of wonder and endearment.

I remember the way our stares held.
We would drink each other in with every stolen glance.
Beaming when our looks were caught adrift.

I remember the way those eyes shed rivers of tears and I assured you that we would see our way through.

I remember when I found myself shaking on the bathroom floor with the bottle in my hands.
The softness that those auburn irises showed me; compassion instead of judgement.

I remember when those same eyes found themselves yearning for new scenery.
To be caught glancing at another.
To be shown a new light, to see again for the first time.

I remember when you stopped looking at me.
My body begged to feel even just a glance. Even one full of contempt would have been better than never being seen again.
Even a the slightest sliver of sunshine would have been better than the ceaseless darkness you’ve left me in.

So now I wander this world alone. A blinded fool, reaching out for you.