I feel empty...
And there's this numbness in
my chest that has been
keeping me awake
late at night whenever
I try to sleep.

        I feel as if
  everything
I believed in has
    turned on me,
    all at once.

Lately my thoughts
have been reduced
to suicide and intoxication.
      Lying in bed at night
   looking for any kind
  of good-vibration.
Obviously I've been nothing
      but ****-out-of-luck.
Because every morning
         that I wake-
    I feel like nobody gives
           a ****.

I take a walk into the parkour graveyard,
looking for Polish dealers and cellphone halos.
I heard Thoth resides in sobriety,
but words fail me
whenever you are near.

I let my tongue run in endless stutters,
disguising 'I love you' as some off-hand request.
I could take you to dinner,
I could show you a longing
without the need for ***.

This late-night food has lost its flavour.
This ******* never picked up.
All that is left is to dial these numbers,
and wait by the window
for any car but yours.

Let's take a walk to the railway bridge.
We'll smoke a joint by the open forest.
You'll push your breath into mine,
make me high,
and forget why I ever
felt so low.

When I'm screaming your name over and over, artfully disguise my screams of pleasure as careful intonations of my love for you.

When you look at me, I don't mind if you picture the rest of our lives together. Just promise me that you'll make it detailed and fill our future with promises you can keep.

When we talk to each other, your words touch my heart the way the sun rises, bathing the sky in beauty.

I fell in love with you and I don't want you to break my heart, I want you to have it. It's yours now. I am yours now.

It's an anxiety attack waiting to happen when I can't think of a witty way to say something unoriginal; something that everyone has heard before, but that just now occurred to me to say. I can feel my thoughts racing, my heartbeat speeding up to pump blood to my overreacting brain that's now thinking, "How the **** am I gonna get these feelings out, now?" I can't think of a cunning way to use a metaphor--one that I need to be able to put this pen to the page and call all these thoughts in my head poetry.
What is the meaning of poetry? I feel like I should have some kind of figurative language in here, but my brain is fried. I'm too numb to process a **** thing. I'm so numb that it physically hurts and that pain is all that I can feel. That and the burning of my eyes from lack of sleep. This isn't poetry. I don't know what this is--random words strung together by a writer who's falling asleep at the page, who doesn't even know what sense is at this point. It's a rant...it's a ramble. Sleepless ramble

The trouble with Hello Poetry
Is that I fall in love daily
Held under so many captivating spells
moulded and crafted by all walks of life
I find myself longing for all of you
the broken, the fallen, the bruised
the saints, the sinners
the righteous, the dispossessed
the holy, the unholy
all meet here
to speak of life
as they feel it
as only we know it.
Onwards, upwards
Downward spirals
kindness, cruelty
crashing through boundaries
bounding across oceans
carried on wistful sighs and broken dreams
The trouble with Hello Poetry
Is that it breaks my heart
Then brings me back to love again
All within an hour.