You get off on licking your own skin, lapping up that which you sweat.
It’s who you think you are that you love more than anything else.
A trough for the masses who seek to get their fill until you stop smiling.
Misery lies in wait while you bask in the glow of idol worship.
Getting off on getting off until all that’s left is a lie and an empty bottle.
You better hope that that mirror is as good liar as you are to yourself.

Don’t presume to think that they love you, because the truth is that they don’t.
Nor should you ponder whether they’ll want you, because the truth is that they won’t.
They tried to warn you ahead of time, they were trying to save you the trouble.
Apparently they saw your future, just your dreams in ash and rubble.
You didn’t listen, you held on to hope to think it was at least worth a try.
Now you drink, you smoke, and curse. Because you believed in your own lie.

Existence is meaningless
Life is absurd
And yet we carry on

Watching soccer
*******
And worrying about the lawn

Nodding our heads
Appearing to care
Wishing we were numb

Woefully staring
Out into space
In envy of the dumb

And you may feel
Dead inside
Hopeless and exhausted

Lemme assure you
As life goes
You have yet to be accosted

It only gets worse
Better’s a lie
Even the devil hates it here

Life is pain
And pain is life
I hope I’ve made that clear

So cheers to you
Best of luck
I hope you make it out alive

Try to live a little
Instead of
Just survive

I don’t want your help.
I want you to help them.
So that there’s no one like me left to help.

Your parting lips only serve to decimate. To remind me of what I already know.
How it is and what isn’t real, beginning to twist and intertwine to a point where I can no longer follow any stream of thought with trust.
I roll back. Holding my nose out of habit the dark waters in the back of my mind envelop.
Tranquility doesn’t reside here. There’s no shelter. No rest for the wicked. And I’m wide awake.
Chaos and order dance here. Like Astaire and Rogers. They waltz and spin across a floor of fire and ice. It’s beautiful here and there’s nothing to see.
I write here. I wallow in angst amidst the pages that don’t make sense. Dripping with ink and tears I’ll scratch at the walls in vain for hours. Until. That word that fits comes to me. That word that I hope will drive my point home and scream “*******!” into the deafest ears.
And sometimes I write about you.
My bane. The Achilles’ tendon that keeps me grounded. A reminder of who I’m not. One who cannot be so fortunate but must toil in a pit of my own design.
I’ll emerge from those tranquil waters. My bath that does nothing to cleanse my soul. And I’ll fall again into my role of perpetual sadness. Because I cannot see beyond death. Her wings unfurled before me. Her warm darkness longing to envelop and shroud me from my own reflection.
Where are you my love?

The dusty road hath grown grey
Time has been here too
A nomad appears from the east
And I ask of you

Tell me where the flowers grow
In hues of red and black
Tell me where the sun was last
And when will she be back

A tired wind pushed him forth
For he had spoken not a word
I wrote I love you on a ravens back
And I cursed that ominous bird

Cigarettes and crescent moons
Dead soldiers on the ground
We could say a thousand words
And never make a sound

You told me once long ago
How you wished it ought to be
And through the dark and stormy nights
‘‘Twas you I longed to see

Shall I set the world afire
To help you find your way
Perhaps if I destroy it all
Then maybe you’d stay

People,
To me.
Are like puppies.
Adorably naive monsters.
That will inevitably
**** on my life at any given moment.
They’re not to be trusted.

I wish I could zoom in on my world.
Reign in the picture so to speak.
You're angry over your coffee not being prepared to your liking.
I'm a tad irritated at those individuals that think capitalism is the unquestionable means of socioeconomics.
You're excited because your new sheets from Amazon arrived.
I'm pretty happy about that baby elephant at the Pittsburgh zoo.
You're worried your daughter will turn into a liberal.
I'm worried about werewolves, solar flares, and running out of toilet paper.
I know it's all a matter of perspective.
I just can't seem too reel it in.

So do you want to buy a ***** pump?

There was once a path in the woods, ‘‘tis what the natives say
A place you should not venture, should you ever lose your way
There’s a path for the harvest moon, and one that’s best in blue
But beware yourself the wolf moon, lest you know what’s good for you

There lived an old woman, an ashen cabin wrought with many curses
When her boy was slain by wolves, she recited bible verses
And though god chose not to listen, as she begged him for salvation
The devil heard her sermon, and offered reparations

“Present your boy to the first full moon and bathe him in its light
Then lay him down upon the path and leave him for the night
You’ll have your boy back in your arms by dawn the very latest
And by my act you will see that god is the only sadist

Though there will be times when the debt must be returned
There are always little consequences, lessons to be learned
On each full moon your boy will become a ferocious raging beast
He’ll reap for me another soul for every man’s a feast”

The devil kept his promise and her boy he did well rise
And come the next full moon she saw the devil tells no lies
Before each full moon ever-after she’d chain him in the wood
He’d cry and scream and curse her soul as she did what she could

Until it was the old woman was bitten by the devil as a snake
He had not received his souls for his debt she did foresake
The tree with all its claw marks would stand alone next new moon
And the people of these lands would know horror all too soon

They say the devil watched as the monster ripped into its mother
Her soul the first to go, before he sought about another
The devil took the mother’s soul in his arms and waltzed her out the door
In his strife with god he let the beast set straight the score

If you look upon the somber rock where the earth and moon collide
To the west, and stay down low for its best that you should hide
You’ll see the devil dancing with his lovely maiden fair
While her son hunts in the forest for those that don’t beware

My eyes feasted upon you like dogs
Salivating at the thought you
Honey dipped basked in blue fire
Poured out by the moon
My minds hands shake
You’re a poem that can’t be written
Moving like sunlight
Only I couldn’t follow
My moment in your warmth
Fleeting and coveted

I don't curse not a one.
The infamous four.
Who came and went
Through my front door

I love each one
And I always will
The fool I am
Long past till

Four deep scars
My ego bears
For those careless words
And wasted cares

Better men took them
And off they went
And I stand broken
Bruised and spent

What does it say
When all four go
What is this thing
That I don't know

**** it I say
I tried and I failed
I won't be on board
When that ship has sailed

All four of them happier
They didn't choose me
From Beth and Kelly
To Jess and Lee.

I had a dream I didn’t care
My chest was open my heart was bare
I had a dream where I didn’t care
I looked about but you weren’t there
And I won’t sleep while I’m aware
That if I dream you won’t be where
I think I thought I saw you there

Where would I find you if I decided to look?
Alone in a corner, your nose in a book?
And what time would you say I could find you there?
If it were to matter, and I were to care.
And what could I say to avert your gaze?
Up from those pages of which you graze?
Perhaps I could offer a limerick or two?
An impromptu serenade just for you?
I hear you, I feel you, you want me to go.
I don't have a ticket and I'm late for the show.
I see you're reading "My Sisters Keeper".
Anna wins the case, but then meets the reaper.

We understand the futility of endeavoring to unravel the intricate illusions of life. We’ll acknowledge without hesitation that ultimately nothing we do matters.
We’ve discussed how the human psyche is just too fragile to grasp the truth of our existence. Ineffectual beings of nothingness. Meandering about under the delusion that we as individuals, have a purpose for being.
And yet, even under these shared circumstances. This mutual acknowledgement of understanding and empathizing with each others plight.
Funny.
That we still struggle.
With things as simple as ourselves.

It's a funny thing.
Loneliness.
You can be surrounded by people and yet have no one to talk to.
You're tempted to try.
To reach out to someone.
But.
You don't want to bother anyone.
So then.
You figure.
There's no sense in being around all these people.
It's just weird.
So you wander off.
In search of.
A quiet moment.
Out of a dream,
a dream you don't wish to have again.
You immerse yourself in thought.
You long to raise your head and see someone standing before you.
You don't dare.
Why do that to yourself?
Because you're a *******.
You look up.
As if the Devil himself raised your chin with *******.
You can hear him laughing when he sees the look of disappointment on your face.
So you take his hand in an act of complacency.
And the two of you while the night away.
Two demons laughing at the moon.

I suffer.
Day in and day out I suffer still.
Under the weight of a mind broken.
You think I don't want to heed your words?
To believe in you?
These things that you say.
They're not true.
They've never been true.
Not when it comes to me.
Perhaps for others, but not I.
I can't.
I want to. With all the conviction of a storm.
So desperately.
Nothing have I wanted more.
Alas though.
I know I don't belong.
Because, broken.
You say nice things.
But they're not meant for me.

There was that time.
And the time before that.
And then the time before that.
And by the time
I figured it out.
I’d run out of time.

I know what you think of me
It's alright
Nothing I haven't heard before
I don't even resent you for it
Your true feelings, although predictable, are yours
"You can't help how you feel"
Isn't that what they say

I can't say this to you
Because I know you don't care
This sounds passive aggressive
But we both know it's true
I still love you
I'll always love you
Is it supposed to hurt

I tried to be there for you
To encourage and support
I guess I don't know
Maybe I'll get it right next time
Perhaps I'll retain what I learned this time
And then I'll know better than to fall in love again

I have this weird feeling that how I mattered won’t be revealed until I’m gone. And I can’t help but wonder why.
What good will it do me then?