I sighed my last sigh.
With nothing to show.
For all this wasted time.

The still buzz on the screen.

Electricity.

And a passion.
I could never find.

In these dying nights of summer.
Where the chill rises up on these kaleidoscope sunsets.
I can feel the sun bleeding into the horizon.
Tortured.
Haemorrhaging all over the sky.

I try to reflect on something.
Better than just being in the.
Moment.

But, alas.
I'm at a loss for words.

And,

I'm not very eloquent anymore.

Every day.
I feel like sleeping.

Rather.
Be unconscious than this.
Self conscious.
Subconsciously neurotic.
Paranoid ideation.

I live.

Not to mention.
The delusions.

Better to fantasize.
Than bother with the day.
To days.

Of getting up.
Getting high.
Lost in a radicalized.
Weaponized.
Grave yard of ideas.

Ranting to no one so
publicly.
It would be embarassing.

If I didn't know how to.

Disappear.

Some kinda.
Dismissive avoidant style.

Beating that internal bad object.
To a well earned death.

And, at least.
I still dream.

He said I was.
High tension.
It's not like he's wrong.
I do scream at cops.

And, find myself in institutions.
Involuntary circumstances.
Of a rotten mind left to gaze.

Into that dark nothingness.
That void of regret.

A black chasm.
I find myself falling into.

An infinite void.
Of negative emotions.

Anhedonia.
Got me down.

I awake to light.
Boring itself through my skull.
And,
Baby,
There ain't no us.

There's just me

With a headache.

Reevaluating my life.
Choices.

My life is up for interpretation.
Discussion, I never wanted it to be.
As though there was a right way.
To live.
Or be.
Living.

As though my lived experiences.
Were just mirages.
Mistakes and maladaptive memories.
Maybe.
It was all a bad.
Dream.

Even as moments reside deep in my subconscious.
And, how I felt.
Which isn't much.  These days.
Cause why feel bad.
When you.
Can just.
Not feel at all.

Lost in that stoic impulse.
To  endure.  Every.
Loss.  As a passing of leaves in autumn.
The heat of summer and i's dissipation.
Something.
To be uninvested in.

Resilient.
Yolked to the failures.
Of a wasted life.

Punctuated.

With some decent days.

It always felt like something.
Inevitable.
That at some point in time.

I'd be.
Good.
At something and all the ****.
I went through.

Would
mean something.

And, it was for a lack of trying.
Cause I didn't bother.
Not that I regret these nights I spend.
In my mind imagining images of magnificent things.

Better than this.
Subliminal torture.
Waiting for the patterns to equal.
A some of its parts.

I just can't quit.
These confessions.

That I'm not here anymore.
My fantasy babe, my partner,
My magic moment denied.
My cowards nature belied.

I'll scream passively into the void.
As I enjoy these.
My last moments.
Awake.

To recede into the banal mundane.
Of the routine.

Pity party.