Everything is left.
Empty.

This frustration.
Doesn't end.

It haunts me.

A peculiar poltergeist.

As all my ambition.
Coalesces into feeble.
Poetry.

My metaphoric mantra.
To keep.

An impulse to write.

Who were you that whisked yourself.
Away from my poor circumstances.
So you didn't have to watch me.
Fall apart.

At least.
I guess.  T
That's what.
You told yourself.

And,
me.

I don't mind.

Everyone is temporary.
A single serving something or other.
That I talked to a while.

But,
Got too involved in the fantasy.
Of what I could be.

I have nothing.
To prove to you.
Nothing to teach.

So waft away like a breeze.
Floatsam hovering in a cyclone.
Disappear into the horizon.
As the darkness envelops a kaleidoscopic sunset..

Sad I wouldn't do what you wanted me to do.

As precise as it was in your head.

This is my ode.
To my disposable.
Nature.

And the comfort.
In giving up.

I'm always on the verge of another.
Breakdown.
Feeling my soul extricate itself.
From the premises.

Absent mindedly.
I stare into the darkness.
The permutations of my hallucinations.
Swirl in the darkness.
Lights in the dark.

Or is it
the blood coursing through my eyes.
Fluctuating in spasmodic undulations.
Something moving in a shadow.
A face my brain places into the dark.
Patterns associated with mind states.
Anger, depression, empitness.

It's all just such.
A trick of the mind.
Counterfeit spirits.

And I am  
Feeling the buildup of repressed.
Emotions.
But I gird my *****.
Tolerate the bottleneck.
Stave off the breaking of the dam.
By receding into apathy.

I must stabilise my circumstance.

Til the dam breaks.
And my life is ruined.
In yet another catastrophic incident.
To add to the list.
Of reasons why.

I'm broken.

I journal all this.
Internet graffiti I spew.
In public.
For your conisderation.
Lest someone call me a coward.

Inauthentic.
Weak.
Pathetic.

But I'm not that.
I'm a pent up pipe bomb.
A shockwave.
I don't ever get better.
I get much much worse.

And these idyll iterations of words.
Imply.
I often write things I don't agree with.
Just.
Cause.
They say I can't.

But, I dunno that word.
Can't.
It's not a command.
It's a weak suggestion that I'm not inclined.
To consent to.

And I dress myself up so dramatically.
I add flair to the self destruction.
Of someone too smart for their own good.
A rebel without a cause.
Beaten down and **** on.
But, I get up if not only to spite.
The little **** who knocked me out.

I am divine in my filth.
I am a mendicant.
A Bhikku of Yama.
Lord of Death.

And, oh.
You say I can't say what I want?
Well, I never asked your opinion.
Please,
arrest me for all of these hate crimes.
These taboo pantomimes of a free speech activist.
Just make sure you find intent.

Life isn't worth living when all this 'art'.
Is the same fictional balderdash they've been.
Spewing for decades.
Nothing reflective of the human condition.
Nothing novel.
Just the same rehashed formula and historic art movements.
That died decades ago.

So in this collaborative fiction.
I write my mythology in my own personal.
Mystery cult.
Residing with God.
Compelled to castigate.
Rewarded for being anti social.
And, principled.

And, no.
You can't come along.
You weren't invited into my church.
I am the only congregant.
The only priest.
The only crusader.
Out here trying to burn down reality.

Endogenous
In group of one.

I'm amazed at how long.
I've managed to keep myself alive.
Without trying too.
Hard to keep living.
Mr Self Destruct.
Mr. Give Me Anything as Long as I'm baked.
Some life I sought, really.

In fact.
I tried not to live.
I sought death.
It seems like something or someone.
Is preventing me from dying.

And, I feel comforted in the comfortable annihilation.
I only feel in a deep sleep.
Or a concussive forcing me to wake up.
With rage and hate.
As my brain rockets off my skull

All this natural starvation.
This borderline anorexia.

And.

All these late nights.
With too much drugs.
Planning for nothing.
Building up a tolerance for all these overdoses.
Cause, tomorrow was always so far away.

And,
right now,
I feel like ****.
So, I recede into the nothingness.
Disconnect from reality.
Tune in,
drop out,
and get ******.

And, while you all sought to make it this far.
I tried collapsing before the race was over.
I stumbled on the blocks and got lost in the run.
My legs failing.
My heart racing.
An over compensated fear that I.
Might.
Find myself still going.
When my legs dont work.
When my head is throbbing with blood.
With no motivation.

Just the cold hard defeat.
That.

I made it,
As the shock sets in and I think.
I wasn't prepared for this.
What do I do now?

Confusion.
Listlessness.

She sells sea shells.
By the sea shore.
Cause.
I ain't taking her flights of fancy.
As some sacred script.

Change?
If you missed the forest for the trees.
Maybe you'd think that.
But, I'm consistently me.
I just stopped fantasizing about people.
Accepted them for how they were.

And, threw them away.
Like the refuse they are.

Everyone is a temporary light.
In a sea of engulfing darkness.
And I will shine brighter than the sun.
In the middle of night.

And now.
The depression sets in.
As the SSRI leaves my body.
And in this muck, this helpless mire.
I feel the constant sensation.
Of wanting to die.

Hoplessness.
Dichotomous thinking.
A general feeling of dis-ease.
Guilt and a desire to punish.
Myself.

Sober?
Why?
So I can sleep all day.
Starve myself.
Self crit with self abuse?
Another psychotic break with reality?

It's not like I painted it all black.
It's more despair.
At the incompetence of my life choices.
It's just a niggling suspicion.
That this too.
Is pointless.

So, I'll recede into my vivid dreams.
Off the pills.
The ones that mock me with all my.
Imperfections.

I've got a list of everything.
I hate about myself.
Maybe an addendum or two.
Of what I like.

Nothing causes this listless wandering in torpor.
It came from out of knowhere.
Left field.
Out of the blue.
When I was 12.
And, nothing.
Makes.
It.
Go.
Away.

I imagine torturing myself.
To express how much I hate myself.
So the outside matches the inside.

This temple so sacred.
I will desecrate it.
I will conform reality.
To how I feel.

Horrible.