Nolan Bucsis

Nolan Bucsis Mar 2018

Hopeless.
As all that potential dried up.
Into oh so much ash.
Placed in an urn.
Scattered on the sea.

It's just that reality.
Never turns out quite like it.
Should.

A withered future.
And nothing gained.
So I stick to now.

And,
Medication.

Nolan Bucsis Mar 2018

To be truly alone.

There's nothing in here.
Nothing worth saving.
There's nothing in anyone else.
Nothing worth knowing.

And, there's that dead stare.
I do.
When I'm in public.

Vacant.
Let down.

Nolan Bucsis Mar 2018

Fascile something or other

I disappear and hide in cracks.
With the knowledge.
That I always become a memory.
That lasts for a few months.
Somewhere else is so anonymous.
When you don't tell them where it is.
And, I just disappear.
Then you don't know me anymore.
And, you're replaced.
With another random human being.
I find no joy in.
To get bored of.

I was just made.
Broken.

My voice so soft.
You'll miss it.

Before it stops talking at all.

Gets lost in intoxicated.

They scream at me.
For not being.
What they want.

Filled with apathy.
Self destructing.

Nolan Bucsis Mar 2018

Social Cancer Media

Now.
I disconnect myself.
From that synthetic reality.
The serendipitous escape.

Where for once.
I was part of a greater community.
Something different.
If only in my mind.

The fantasy.
Was always.
A change from the empty stillness.
The mute conversations I have with myself.
A distraction from unremitting failure.

Now.
I'm not so schizophrenically.
Detached.
Stuck in the minds of other people.

I think.
What exactly did I learn.
From that grandiose delusion of mine.
From that failure to connect.
From that fragile persona.
That was never me.
My never was.

Nothing.

I learned nothing.

I'm going back to all alone.
It's much more comfortable.
More, serene.

True to myself.

Nolan Bucsis Mar 2018

Your mortality creeps up on you and the bravado disappears.

Every day I cough out more days.
I cut off of my life.
My protest against existence.
Slow suicide that seems to have caught up.

Sometimes you get confused.
At the terror of an immediate death.
A stroke.
Or a heart attack.

You can taste your rotten.
Breath.
Feel the oedema.

But, smile.
Getting lost in the delerium.
A lack of oxygen.
Euphoric decay.
The bodies defense mechanism.

And I rest well.
In the knowledge that relatively soon.
All those things.
That life I had.
That aborted life.
My lack of motivation.

And my isolation.
All my self destruction.
My abomination.

And, I'll curl up.
Shedding pounds like.
Bad experiences.
And dry up in the sun.

With each failing *****.
Each laboured breath.
I'm free.
I can fade away.

I'm washed clean.
Receding into the back ground noise.
That calm place.

Where nothing moves.

Everything in still.
And.
Constant.

Nolan Bucsis Mar 2018

Hurricane something harsh

You can rage against the storm.
But.
If you survive.
You get to rebuild.
In all its tedium.

Nolan Bucsis Mar 2018

Untitled

Where are you?
Anywhere.
But here?
I see you.
And I know.
We all pass into oblivion.