It is as if a wave of tranquility passed over me this morning. Still numb. However, the strenuous longing to feel has dissipated. The wounds have be temporarily cauterized. No empty pain lingers in the darkness like a phantom menace. I felt nothing before, But I knew I was in pain. Now the nothingness consumes any lingering obscure thoughts. I am the hollow man; Such a fragile shell I carry on burden bones. But tis a pleasant day indeed. Thunder storms barrage the sky in open warfare and ominous tear drops soak the battlefield. For once I am not the fool weeping alone; The world takes my place, my pain, my suffering, and I revel in the warmth of it's tears as any good sadist does.

The past two days were recklessly engorged with alcohol.
Intoxication has become habitual. Each weekend, drowning one's self in an illusion of joy and folly; The jester entertaining not Kings nor Queens, but the ****, the weak, to deceive the empty crowd in my mind that I matter to someone. But matter is fleeting and we, myself and the abyss, understand the plight of today; waking up to nothing-- the empty abyss for which I am well acquainted with. Simply put, I am revisiting my old home from a not so distant past. The only difference between then and now is the relentless bottoms of empty glasses and a false sense of security and composure.

I proceed to write again,
Feverishly clawing my way
through a leather bound journal.
The floods have been dammed
for longer than I can remember
And I fear for those below,
But I must laugh at myself a little
For I am alone in this abyss.

Crisscross applesauce;
the scars on my wrist
is depression's cost

I am a temperamental, dissociated mannequin
expulsing convective heat profusely
into the pores of the unforgiving
pleather padded,  worn-out gaming chair
for the past twelve hours of a grueling
dungeon battle and boss battle.
The sweat dripping down my erector spinae
puddling at the bottom of my overused
flannel that I washed a week ago.
The thickness of the air is pungent
and hovers over my keyboard and mouse.
The dark cave of my existence is plenty.
Yes I understand that my reality is fluid,
it shifts from universe to universe
depending on my temperament
and I hardly have time for my own world.
The satisfaction of fiction is fleeting
but that is why I keep joining the lobby.
Time after time, endless hours of adventuring
in the dark of my parents basement.
Because this reality is much easier not  being in it.

The ellipse table spins,
around the bottle passes
Six wizened kings
Stooped drunk on their *****

They discussed their forefront
their kingdom's wealth and prosperity
bantering and confronting
small ambiguous disparities

Until one man stood up
wobbled and unbalanced
He died there corrupt
The whole room was silenced