I can't think.
Anymore.

Just like how I stopped.
Wincing when I was in pain.

It's a communication.
And understanding.

Of something negative.

I want to die.

I gave up on.
The basics.
Of life.

Now, I'm not sad.
I'm just.
Not here at all.

And, even if these sensations.
Stop.

I'll still be stuck.
Ten years too late.
My body breaking down.

And, my age.
Etched in my face.

Why bother.
Waking up tomorrow.
When it's the same thing.
Same dysfunction.

Always unwell.

What happened?

I thought we were going to write our names.
On ancient archaic architecture.
In Europe.
As we squated our way across.
The European Empire.
Looking for that good.
In everyone

We would have.
Made love with the Bohemian Eurotrash.
Like us.
Yearning for an adventure across the territory of that Cold War.
Like a Mutually Assured futile resistance.
Against those individual battles.
We fought.

In DDR uniforms.
Crusty jackets and holy clothes
With rabid Communists.
The bishops of our redemption.
A patched messiah.

We were going to storm the Bastille high on acid.
Make love under the Arch Triumph.
And, scream our victory to the ghosts in the Catacombs.
We  would bomb the old histories in every antediluvian city.
Set fire to our heritage, and laugh.
In that blazing dawn.
In that explosion.

In that could have been.

But,
We never really got passed the lawn.
We passed out on the side walk.
And vomited on our shirt.

I feel stuck.
In some indiscernible.
Former life.

I don't feel confident enough.
To do anything.
But, get stuck in the static.
And nostalgia.
Of a song I like.

From.
Long ago.

No more life.
No more.

I just want to recede.
Into the roof of my closed eyes.

Remember I was young and idealistic.
Once.

Some time ago.
In this metered rhythm.

At a certain point.
You get beyond that.
Frustration.
And, enter into.
Resignation.

What's left.
When you've.
Given up.

What is there to do.
But, wait until.
Your body breaks down.

And ignore.
Your situation.