I only get happy when I'm in these.
Liminal trance states.
Where I can forget.
Linear time.
And,
It's worse than I ever told you.

In my whole life.
Cause.

Remember.

I didn't tell you.
A God ******.
Thing.

I crytpically write my fate.
With each cigarette.
Dying of pulmonary oedema.
An abstract aneurysm.

Some kinda blood clot.
And.
My pressure is high.

My lungs.
Black.

But God.
Won't let me.
Die.

So I hack up until I get the feeling.
Of vomiting in my lungs.
A torch song.
Dry hacking until.

It dislodges.
From these maladaptive.
Coping mechanisms.

Life in a nutshell.

Neurotically wistful about neotonous memories.
While your bad behaviour.
Takes its silver farthing from you.

A mockery of your former self.

The sun impresses fire into my being.
And.
I want to steal it.
And bury it deep.
In Tyrannus' depth.

I walked among the funeral pyres.
Caked in the dust of so many dead.
Things.
And.
On the horizon is coming autumn.
In the air is stinging winter.

How many cycles left?
How many austerities.
Til I break through.

To the Gods and spirits.
And, offer my taboo trickster spirit.

Some blood.

From a sacrificial offering.

It cuts like fire.
It burns a knife inside my soul.
This is irrelevant.
This is unmediated.

And on all the indigo sunsets.
I etch my epitath.

I am in darkness.
The light has gone out.
And.
I am now rotting.
Fetid.
Foul.

Tyler says.
My problem has always.
Been my paranoia.

But he neglects the self doubt.
The self hatred.
Or the hallucinations.

And, every day I struggle.
With the will to live.
Especially when it turns out.
I'm not really that unique.

Id hate to be the person.
Who admires.
My imperfections.

Every new beginning.
Exists more poignantly.
In my fantasy.
Than in reality.
And the grandiose delusions.
Are finally wrong.

I'm simply.
Mundane.

Important to no ones.
Story.

I have no deus ex machina.
Just personal private moments.

And poorly worded.
Psychosis poetry.

I'm.
Not.

Missing.
Out.

On.
Life.

I'm.
Just.
Waiting.
To.
Die.­

It's.
Not.
Exactly.

What.
You.

Want.

But,
I.
Never.

Asked.