There's a certain beauty.
In a house falling apart.
With holes in the floor.
Grime collecting in corners.
Never cleaned.
Frantic edgy grafiti.
And a collective apathy.
Punctuated with loud drunken parties.
Cause we're in the ghetto.
In a small town.
And, there's.
Hundreds of cats in our alley.
Left behind by former owners.
Much like.
We.
Are.

I've stopped fantasizing.
About other people
How can I see a future.
With other people.
When.
I.
Don't.
Have.
One.
Myself.

Just regret.
Just apprehension.
Just death.

I asked her if I could sing.
She wasn't expecting me to be good.
And she smiled.
This ***** I just met.
We got high and the drugs said I loved her.
Then, she almost got me killed.
I probably should have just.
Stuck to myself.
Like I always do.
Set to mute.

I'm not available.
For your sentiment.

And I'll throw you away.
Cause.
I always do.

Barely utter more than.
A paragraph a day.

Drunk.
Is better than dead.

I never learned.
How to get attached.
When all I do is run.
To somewhere else.
Otherwise.
These ghosts.
They still haunt me.