Lethargy
Let me
Give all I have
To you
Entropy
An end to the means
To find my home
Please
Bile spews from my fingers tapping tainted words onto a blank page
And I realize this page is me
Everything on it is myself
So I'll let this be my eulogy
Dear lover:
I never really loved you. I still don't.
Dear mother:
What happened?
Dear brother:
I'm sorry
Dear father:
I chose this
Did I want to hear this?
In my head?
My head?

I am not your Bukowski
I am not the Picasso of words
I am not the DaVinci of euphemisms
I will never be remembered
I am not beautiful
My insides are not pure
I am tainted blackened filth
Begging for attention or pity
Nothing goes my way
I am a failure
Bur I will do nothing to change
Nor tell another
I want to die
I know I say it a lot
But I don't feel that it's fine that some more grateful of their gift
Take their last breath tonight
While I, thoughts of suicide, running amok in my fragile mind
Take everything for granted and give back nothing
Nothing but whines and complaints and harshness
I am not Bukowski
I am not Jesus Christ
I am I

Nothing matters
Nothingness is our void--
our shared existence
it is a claustrophobic
cramped
catatonic state of mind
my mind is melting my mind is melting my mind is
gone
there
that second is gone
and that one too
every single second sounded sirens in my psyche
have I gone off the deep end?
my razor might agree
I'm sure my heart would fall out
if it weren't secured between a set of bones and two lungs
lungs that I've blackened with my hate
because if my body is a temple I've burnt it to the ground
I have succeeded in this artistic DESTRUCTION
yet I am an artist
I create
with my beautiful words and my ugly thoughts
I don't care if I live or die or if I love or lie or lose or try
I am falling
fall
fall
Fall down from your throne you ******* hypocritical plagiarist
I hope you rot in your cell
because it's my only retribution
to you, my love
myself

I want to do it
I want to drive a knife into my neck
I want to jump in front of a car
I want my lifeless body to hang from the ceiling
Held up only by a thread
I want to drown in my apathy
I want to suffer
because suffering brings great art
right?
maybe if the art's not great
then that's okay too
just feel sorry for me
someone
that girl I used to love never loved me
she doesn't talk about me in her journal
she can read house of leaves just fine
she's not the reason for this though
I guess I could blame her
but it's all me
I have nothing
I have no talent
I have no drive
I have no passion
I have no work
I have nothing
god forbid I actually live
I'm just so scared
so ******* scared of life
this is existence
this is existence
i'll repeat it five hundred times
and hopefully it will stomp
Into my brain
this is existence
there is no heaven
there is no hell
no god above
no devil below
no reincarnation
no karma
the only invisible force that's reliable is gravity
and even then sometimes that won't work
I have nothing
please forgive me
please please please please please please

Somewhere out there a baby cries in a room full of white and black equipment that screechs with it
or rather beeps
and somewhere out there a child falls and scrapes his knee and he looks down to the blood and he feels pain
its his first memory
somewhere out there a pubescent girl bleeds for the first time in her life and she's scared and she thinks she's going to die because
no one ever told her this would happen
no one ever said a word
but she's heard of internal bleeding before
and somewhere out there a teenage boy takes in a huge whiff of his first marijuana cigarette
and the room spins and he sees the decor
fake flowers posted on fake walls of four
and he passes the joint and his friends they all laugh and starts to smile and they all go back
to the time when they were young when life was filled with one part wonder and one part great and nothing ever hurt
not a single thing
the grass feels good, it feels like summer and smells like nothing they've ever smelled before
and somewhere out there a twenty one year old girl screams but he continues doing what he was raised to do
after all you never take no for an answer
whether you're getting a job, selling a car, or *******
and he **** and she cries and life is lit on fire
the summer too hot
the last winter was far too cold after all
so when the earth burns up inside this girl
she only thinks about that time when she was younger and nothing hurt
not a single thing
and the only blade she had to ever see was green and in her front lawn
somewhere out there an old man coughs and his son knows that cough too well because
his wife had the same one
and words fall from his lips with each beat of his heart
and those words turn to tears in the son's eyes and
form words in his lips
and if God is asking permission to take this life
he isn't taking no for an answer
but the old man doesn't care
the old man knows where he's going and
he can't help but smile
but right here i'm lying to myself on a keyboard
the cadence of the clicks creating catastrophes for people I've never met

I don't know what to do with my life right now
I am an abstract thought fleeting from my mind
And every aspect of me is running away faster and faster each minute
Each second each hour each ******* day
I can feel myself slipping away
When you're a kid
You don't think about this type of ****
You just live
Life is life
C'est la vie
The French have a word for every ******* feeling
I swear it
If only I could speak French maybe
it'd make writing poetry a bit easier
But it will never get easier
Because poetry is life
And with each word you extend yourself
You extend the years to come with this poem
A single poem
A single stansa
A single
Word

And within that word a thought can sprout
But with water and time that thought can become work
And with work and effort you give birth
To a beatiful ******* poem
Filled to the brim with emotion
and strength
and power
and fear
and loss
and hope
and dreams
and pride
and envy
every sin in the **** book
written onto a blank white page
You dissected yourself before a crowd
And you open and pull your guts out to only have them shoved back in
by ungrateful
undeserving
undead
flesh eaters
because thoughts are the flesh of your brain
the meat
and the words are the substance
the minerals of this poem
the good
And they may taste bitter and they may come out hard
but when they sit in the stomach of your reader
and digest
and crumble and decay
and die again
and again
and again
you live
you become the eternal worm
you become the everlasting fruit
you become the demon that your parents and your pastors
and your lovers and your friends and your family
and your pets and your dreams and your ******* thoughts warned you about
because knowledge is power
and power corrupts
and thinking is evil
so be a villain in the most beautiful sense of the phrase
and live and please
please live
longer than this poem ever will

Whoever painted the sky this morning did a **** fine job
The reds swirled and met the yellows in a lover's grasp
The deep maroon bled into the light blue, pooling and collecting from the
Stabbing of the night
The way cool, sharp air cut me was romantic
It grazed my skin and gave me a kiss that felt like a dagger
It reminded me of you

I let an object take control of my life
as palahniuk would put it
my possessions have possessed me
but this thing is not my possession
this thing is everyone's
the internet has completely swallowed and devoured me
and now my existence has become a faceless identity in the vast majority
a sea of people who merely live
day by day
what do I do?
do I create?
why does it matter?
it matters to me
and no one else
i am alone
and in my loneliness I find
that my mind
is incredibly
empty

You had a grieving grasp on my guilty conscience
God, how I long for you
Like the winter wanes and waxes full of sorrow for
A new summer, something to end the cold
Something to bring the life
You- A fountain from which flowered a fragrant flaw
You- A cry of carelessness etched on carefully
You- Perfection pieced from broken fragments
You
Mine
How I'd love to find you with me and me with you and us as one
But I'm not up
To the task yet