Everything seems so.
Pointless.
A burden I'm putting off.
Doing.
There is no catharsis.
From this omnipotent overwhelming feeling.
That I'm doing something wrong.
Just marinating in the stew.
Of one more bad day.
Til this depression wears off.
Perpetually.

We are the last children.
Of ostracized individualism.
The dark creepy kids of the witching hour.
Drab dismal black.
Clad in ghosts.

Left aside.
Losers.
Rejects.

Caste out dalits.
Who could never fit into.
Whatever normal is.
Unless we are confined in your consternation.
The someone's who refuse your society.
A jail of good intentions.
And pride.

Unlike you.
We live in twilight.
Sleep at dawn while waking up right before dusk.
To watch the sun set on our dismal days.
Never to rise in us again in day time.

We are.
Delighting in darkness.
Dancing in shade with the oscillating shadows.
Of what's going bump in the dark.
When all of you are asleep.

Maybe we aren't pretty.
Maybe we are a melancholic menagerie of misfits and malcontents.

But how dare you call us vain.
We don't want your attention.
When like insects we scurry away from the illumination of your light.

We'd prefer to be left alone.
Ignominiously ignored infamous itinerant.
Mendicants of Midnight.
To own our own lives.
Ran on our own circadian rhythm.

But you.
Have dragged us into the sun.
Demanded we obey.
Conform to your cancerous cacophony of fragile ideas, tiny egos, and your desire to destroy.

So why then.

Are you shocked that we hurt ourselves.
Hurt you with our existence.
And lash out in desperation for the dying of the light.

Life was better when you left us alone.
And I will certainly shut out the rising sun.
With a cascade of blasphemy.
Pouring out of the sword of my mouth.

You wanted me to grow.
In the light in the cracks.
But, I receded back into my crevice.

And, you left.
I don't blame you.
Yet.

You never asked if I liked the darkness.

To be forward.
I love the night.
Hidden places no one goes.
Unspeakable things in unknown spaces.
Unobtrusive and unobserved.
I want to fluctuate.

Like
The undulations of twilight.
The peace when everyone is.

Asleep.

I don't really wanna live.
I want to be forgotten.
Erased from the footnotes.

Improperly quoted.
Gone before we got acquainted.

A ghost.

Embedded in irrelevant.

I'll etch these words onto my soul.
Embedding information on space time.
Til the black holes consume it.

I wish I was dead.
I wish I wasn't here.
I wish I wasn't breathing, thinking, seeing, feeling.
Anything other than hate, anger, and depression.

Dismal derided desolation.
Living low, down and out.
Merely getting through each day.
An eternal indictment of my distaste.

For.
Existing.

And, I take it personal.
That God won't let me die.

*******.
I didn't wanna exist.

Yet here I am.

Stuck with.
More unanswered prayers.

Another miserable day.
For me.
The odd offending out cast.
Ostracized imbecile.
Anti social apathetic apophenia.

Finding patterns in nothing.
Curt blasphemies.
Paranoid projections.

And, I'm frustrated.
With how incapable I am.
At intuiting.
Anything social.

And.

If this rage had a direction.
It would be inside.
Even though it's other people who make me mad.

Being strange is a sentence.
Assuming I'm a drug addict.
Cause I don't wear ugly jeans and terrible tshirts.

What did multiculturalism ever get me.
Besides being judged.

On how I look.
By musty smelling.
Strangers.

And, friend.
I don't look good.
To you.

Cause you have no taste or
spark of creativity.
Maybe try something sensible.
That everyone else does.
***** dismal polo shirts.
Tacky khakis.

I wouldn't care.
If I didn't have to.
Talk to you.

In your.
Broken English.

You mistake beautiful soliloquies to myself.
For stupidity.
Cause you ain't got a lexicon.
Enough to comprehend what I say.

And, your terrible mispronounced nonsense.
Is incomprehensible.

But, I guess.
I'm the strange one.

I'm the drug addict degenerate.
Who you won't hire.
Because of your cultural assumptions.
You imported.
Here.

My so called home.

Stranger in a strange land.
That used to be where I lived.