When did I detach myself from the current of reality,
eternally fused to the nothingness that awaits us?
To become a slave of dreams and machinations.

When did I become another heartbeat,
longing for fantasies of love,
only to find the anguish that comes from human desire.
Knowing that we are powerless to our fascinations.

How many days go by, as we long to be remembered?
For art, for name, for doing, for living
only to reach the same end of obscurity.

They call me a deconstructionist, a detester of life.
But are we not worthlessly tied to this current of life?
We are born with no concepts, no meaning, an echo of what is to come.
& that same echo escapes us in the end.

I stopped into a church
I prayed for him to go away
Everyday the sky is gray . . .
I cried , he looked at me & I died. . .
      "Please go away"
             "leave me alone"
                   "stop staring"
unanswered pleas down on my knees
                        I 𝕡𝕣𝕒𝕪
               but he never goes away
                         -𝔯𝔢𝔣𝔩𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫

Little Boy,
  you care too much. . .
     you love too much. . .
        you give too much. . .

Put your dreams first!
   𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓉'𝓈 𝓈𝑒𝓁𝒻𝒾𝓈𝒽
It's not your responsibility!
   𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝑒
Go, run, be free!
  𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃'𝓉

You loved them so much, they became your burden.
   You cared so much, they became your illness.
      You gave them all, they became your death sentence.
-𝚢𝚘𝚞

It hurts-
When they find someone new,
and I realize I was only there
for character development.
And now he’s with her,
and I’m with a different face every night.
But I’m the one who struggled through
the lows and the highs.
I cried myself to sleep every night.
Not her.
But I’m the one who’s alone.
Because while he’s marriage material,
I’m simply another body for men to use.
I’m pretty enough to ****,
but I’m no one’s dream girl-
just a means to pass the time.
And so I silently cry in this empty room,
thinking about those memories of you-
and the pain that you and I went through.

I cut myself shaving,
it brought back those memories.
Just a tiny twinge of pain,
and my hand begins to shake.
I throw the razor away,
tears begin streaming down my face.
But as much as I falter,
I want to slide the blade down my wrist again
and feel that familiar ache.
I want my emotions to come pouring out,
Because they’ve been hidden away.
I want to be entranced by seeping blood,
as it soothes and brings me peace.
I cut myself shaving,
and I went back to that place.

The only thing on my mind
Is how badly I want
To run a blade across my wrist
And feel an outer hurt
Because I’m tired of the within

I hit rock bottom again,
  living in my own fiery hell inferno.
Before I coped with the pain,
  or maybe now I float between reality and fantasy,  
     just enough to feel this pain , burning.
My suffering , love lost was external,
    so why is it internal?
I hit rock bottom again,
but this time I am not coping,
    I am b̶u̶r̶n̶i̶n̶g̶.

..and so,
we end up in a cemetery,
eternity *****,

trying to swap for a corner plot with that dour bag on bones, Jones,
I even offered him ten bucks, the miserable ****** said no
and so,
them ******* squirrels,
they're watching my nuts,
I'm
sick to the guts
of being here,

I've lain here for half a century
there is no one to visit
no one to mention me,
ending up in a cemetery
is the pits.