The street is so much simpler.
Than normal life.
And I'd like to be back there.
Adrift in boredom.
Divine in my lack of a life.
And oh it makes much more sense.
To just.
Live for right now.
Eating my way out of the trash.
And.
My romantic nostalgia.
Eating at me.
In these banal suicidal days.

I should embrace.
This falling apart.
Crumble into death.
And.
Blissful.
Abnegation.

I can feel the bullet powering through my skull.
And.
The infinite release of negation.

There I am.
In my mind.
With this familiar refrain.
To alleviate the frustration.
To correct the mistake.
That is me.

All life is.
Is suffering without end.
Failed dreams.
Slowly decaying into infirmity.

Wouldn't it be so nice.
For that millisecond of transition into something black.
Forever.
Something empty.
Forever.

It's not like it matters.
It's not like I matter.
No one does.

So I fantasize a cold steel grey barrel pressed firmly against my temple.
And.
One.
Millisecond.

Then.
Red.

Against the wall.

To say I'm a let down.
Is more credit.
Than I'm due.

And, today melts into tomorrow.
You have to find some.
Solace.
In this isolation.
This torpor.

The basics.
Baffle.
Me.

I don't think about a future.
Anymore.
Just.
Freezing to death.

In the street.

Nothing ever turns out.
The way I want it to.

It just happens.
And I cope.

As best.
I.
Can.

Or not at all.