If I'm just as useless as I think I am, tell me
I can't keep parading around like I'm doing something right,
When obviously I'm not

I'm tired of not being helpful.
I am done with not caring.
I try to help and I do care,
But everything I do and everything I say
Dissipate into the air like cigarette smoke

I panic, I worry, I cry, I fear,
But nothing gets done.
Nothing gets done because my heart fills with all these emotions
That I end up screaming without me knowing it
That I end up screaming at everyone else Instead of screaming at God
(Who deserves all the screaming I want to do for making me this way)

If I'm useless
Then I'm useless
No stopping that
I just wish
Someone would tell me the truth

My depression comes to my bed and gives me a warm embrace almost every morning
I try to wrestle myself out of its grasp, but it only grabs on tighter
Whispering in my ear, telling me that I don't need to leave
Telling me how useless I'll be if I stood up and tried to do anything
I try to fight but I'm frozen in place, forced to endure its tight hold
(On days that I do have the courage to fight, I fight and fight and fight
But end up giving up and giving in)
About three hours will go by while I wait for it to get sick of me and let go,
Two hours if I'm lucky (I'm usually not)
And when it does get sick of me, (if I'm lucky) it reaches into its pockets and throws a little bit of motivation my way
Then it leaves
And I expect it to happen again the next day

I can hear the river's current
From where I'm seated
And I can hear the ******* music
Playing some few blocks away
The night has its ways
Of not giving you peace
Whenever you need it

The plants flow down the river to receive their dark embrace,
And it fills me with envy because they recieve nightly
What I have always asked for

Life, to me, is torture
A there and back again adventure
Of misfortune and self-doubt
And I choose not to live a life like this
But it is given to me against my will

I wish God were real so I could have someone to blame
Unfortunately, I can only blame myself
For all the shortcomings,
Anxiety,
Doubts,
And **** luck

All I can do is self-medicate
With things that are not medicine
Things that do not cure
But things that delay
And delay
And delay
Like AIDS and ******
Except it isn't

I want to be freed from this life
This there and back again adventure
Of misfortune and self-doubt

Maybe one day
I'll flow down life like the plants on the river
And receive the dark embrace
That I've always wanted

So what did you do before this?
I asked the driver
"I drove trucks.
Now I drive people to places"
I sat and listened
As the radio melodies faded
And as the beeping
And the woman's voice
From his smartphone
Began to sound like silence

"My father drove trucks
I watched him drive
Day in and day out
I watched him drive so much
That when I was 12
I grabbed the wheel
And did his job for him"

And so we talked
Passing green lights
Stopping at the red ones

Finally,
The car came to a halt
I handed him my money
And told him to drive safely

That's when I realized
Some men are meant for some things

"Good morning, sir"
He said as I fixed a rainguard
Back unto my car
I froze in place
And he stood in his

I could feel grief in the air
Accompanying this old man
And I stared

"I am a garbage truck driver
My wife died, you see
She used to sweep the street
Around here
Maybe you noticed her
Once or twice"

He shook a crumpled sheet of paper
Filled with bills
Twenties, fifties, and hundreds
And he spoke again

"It's been two weeks
I don't have the money
To bury her"

He said it so casually
His voice was like
A broken record
To him
Probably

But somehow there was still pain

I handed him some money
He bowed
Thanked me
Walked away

And I stood there
Frozen

You once told me
That we would rise from the dark
Like a phoenix in its own ashes
And I believed you

You talked about the beauty of the past
Of caves and of their drawings
How the past calls us to use it
A fiery sword to lead us to the light
And I believed you

You showed me that my art could be more
That there should always be meaning
That there should always be soul
And so I gave my art more life
More soul
And I believed in you

Each line you drew
Each black acrylic spiral
Each word you wrote on canvas
Were similar to mine, in a way
The way the words repeated over and over
Were similar to mine
Were similar to mine
Were similar to mine
And I believed in you

Each line you drew
Each black acrylic spiral
Each word you wrote on canvas
Were similar to mine, in a way
But yours were never yours to begin with
They were Basquiat's
They were Basquiat's
They were Basquiat's
And I couldn't believe it

You showed me that my art could be more
That there should always be meaning
That there should always be soul
And so here it is
With more soul than you will ever have
I hate that you made me believe in you

You talked about the beauty of the past
But never talked of the horrors of your own
And now approaches the fiery sword
To strike you down like the demon you are
And I believe you deserve to rot

You once told me
That we would rise from the dark
Like a phoenix in its own ashes
And I believed you
But now I believe that you don't deserve to

Here lies your poet
Breathing and awake,
But without any signs of life

The deep hours of the night
Are a perfect simulation of oblivion
And the uncomfortable foam mattress
A suitable casket lining for the dead inside

I am a ghost to those who love living
Barely a breath in their lungs
Barely a word in their sentences
But merely a fraction of what I wish to be

Please make me part of it
With open arms and accepting hearts
Why do all of you resent my warmth?
Why make me feel unwelcome?

For now I stay dead, the way you all want me
Because this is all I can do
Break me no more
Because there is nothing of me left

They pour out and foam up at the bottom
The way waterfalls do
As they leave my lips
The sounds they make as they crash
Into the waters below
Are like the bloodcurdling screams of little girls
When the fires in their homes blacken the air
With smoke unlike the gray cigarette smoke
That they are familiar with
The smell of "home" in some way
The smell of hugs
And kisses
And love

Fear is all there is when they come out to play
They tug at ears and pierce them unsavorily
Leaving holes in places you never wanted
Cry all you want, but the scars they leave are scars
Like on your wrists and on mine
Except they don't fade
And they never will
But one day they will open up again
And bleed like they're brand new

They tell me they'll make it all be alright again
And they phase through blades like ghosts
Smoothly and gracefully at the price of my sanity
I don't want to do this anymore
I don't want to keep doing this
I'm tired of lying
I'm tired of lies

Maybe I'll find the strength
To give the truth a shot
One of these days

While the cold, golden **** of dull temptation
Slowly fills up the acidic pool of my empty stomach
I pray hard for even the littlest of light
As tears roll down my face
I pray so hard
That I forget which god I am praying to

I fall deeper into the abyss once again
And feel cold hands gently caress my face
"I have brought you the light you long for."
She says
But I know not if she is the answer to my prayers
And I know not of this light she brings

She comes to play when I am ill
She comes to flirt, but never stays
Some days I wish she would
Sometimes I wish she'd kiss me
And end all of my suffering

When she leaves,
The sorrow in my heart grows greater
When she leaves,
The weight on my shoulders, she brings with her
But I know one day
She will kiss me
And I won't be ready

Pass, people, pass
People pass my field of vision
Different people
Some smart, some dumb
Mostly people
Sometimes a dog
Sometimes a cat
A few birds here and there
But mostly people
Old people
Young people
Mostly disgusting people

People like the young people
Who go home to their disgusting houses
And their disgusting families
To eat their dinner
And after
(On some nights)
Mommy and daddy
Discuss politics
Over a bottle of red wine
While the TV soap operas cry
About a gangster's child or whatnot

The trees dance as I think
As I think about the young people
The disgusting young people
The trees dance as the people pass
Dance, trees, dance
Pass, people, pass

People like the old people
Who work at dead-end jobs
And those with non-dead-end jobs
The ones who legally buy alcohol and smokes
And pay disgusting bills
And pay off disgusting loans
And disgusting mortgages
While they drink their alcohol
While they smoke their cigarettes
And think about bills, loans, and mortgages
About politics and where they stand
About the gangster's child on TV
And they talk about the bills, loans, and mortgages
Politics too
To their wives or husbands or kids or selves
As the TV drones on about the gangster's child

The trees stand as I think
As I think about the old people
The disgusting old people
The trees stand as people pass
Stand, trees, stand
Pass, people, pass