I hate this feeling of dread creepin through my soul. There is no reason, other then I'm falling off the edge into shallow waters.

I give zero ***** anymore.
I have no more ***** to give.
I'm totally absolutely incontrovertibly
fresh out of *****.
My supply of *****
is completely out -- see??
[cupboard door swings open
Only to reveal
a fuckless cupboard]

Even the **** Store is out of *****.
I called them just now,
The guy on the phone said he was
Fresh out --
He told me:
The production and manufacturing
Of ***** has been outsourced
To Shenzhen China,
And the workers are striking
Because they are getting paid
Fifteen cents an hour to produce
6 ***** a second --
Which is inhumane and just wrong.

I asked him why they didn't pay better --
He said, ***** if I know! Like I said,
I'm fresh out of ***** to give
So who gives a ****?

I am not a pleasant person, or even really all that nice.
Instead imagine me as the broken glass you backed over and now are left with a flat tire.
The one black sock in your load of whites, staining the fabric in shame.
That annoying buzzing in your ear that never goes away.
The wall you stubbed your toe on in the middle of the night and screamed, "*******!"

I am not a Sunday morning
or even
a Friday night's lay.
I'm a Monday, 5PM traffic hour just waiting to flip you the bird.
I am the gum on the sidewalk which you happened to step in.
I'm a disaster.
A train wreck.
The red stain on existence, that won't ever come out.

I'll never will be any thing like, a simple smile. Or even a timeless wonder.

I am the darkness that dances in the light.

I am me.
Unpleasant and really not that nice.

My heart has many rooms,
I occupy but a few.
The rest go unvisited.
Till the light began to flicker on
and I've discovered a new part of me.
Take my hand,
lead me through the mazes of hallways.
Show me the rooms,
I've constructed for you.
Inhabit it.
Feed it with your passion of life.
Till my heart is lit ablaze from it.
Light each room with your warmth.

Make my heart into our home.