Nolan Bucsis

Nolan Bucsis May 26

There is nothing
But the madness
Of constant isolation.

I would like to peel off my face
Pour on vinegar
A penance to the beauty of life.

And me,
So ugly,
So ******,
Bleeding regret onto a page.

I wish to be ground into a carnal paste,
Fed to the dogs,
Consumed,
Destroyed completely.

Nolan Bucsis May 26

A Typical Day

Depression subsumes
Me into
Sloth.

It's hard getting up the motivation
To live
When everything is so bleak.

So empty.

These memories of people I used to know
I forgot.

My will to be
Evaporating.

Death would be a restful sleep.

Meaning reduced
To listlessness.

Nolan Bucsis May 24

Fermentation

Everything is an epitaph
A requiem for my life.

I lay in bed like one corpse
In particular
But, I can't quite get it right.

I lay there being Che on a gurney
His arms limp by his side.
His eyes agape at nothingness
Cause his brains were blown out.

You only got the profile shot.
His good side with no abhorrent holes.

I sit
moribund in my bed
Unable to sleep with light shining
Out of my eyelids.

Me, a snapshot of death.

A soul turning black with pooling spiritual blood.
Bloating and sloughing off
Pretending to be dead.

I just wish it were real,
The annulment of Nolan Bucsis
Forever stuck a corpse in a bed.

Until the rot wafts into the nose of a passer by
And they find me in the ichor
Of blackened blood caked on my linoleum.

Nolan Bucsis May 17

Plays

I can't find anything
Meaningful to say
To you
my former self.

And, if life is living the same story
Over and over.
I'd like this one
To end.

I've memorized the script.
The plot is atrocious
And I'm long past dead.

At the curtain call.

Nolan Bucsis May 17

Ukraine

How many 20 year old men
Do the baby boomers get to
Send to die for your
petty
conflict.

Your brothers war.

How many armchair generals
Throw an already dying people
Into the meat grinder.
So mail order brides
Can make mystery meat borscht instead
Of fighting their own *******

War.

From the comfort of what's apparently not my home.

Nolan Bucsis May 16

Butchering a Confession

Frustration
Whips me with a cat o nine tails.
Ripping chunks off my
Flesh.

I persist in the pain
Of never good enough
Or, why did I try.

Fear in a fever,
Blood cascading down my soul
Like warm milk.

There is comfort in the fire
Until you know you're getting
Burnt.

I reopen the old wounds of
The pain of an impotent nothings
Life
Oozing corpulent infection throbs
In bursts.

Visceral viscera
Cascades over my failures

My personal cartography.

Charted on scars
And bruises,
Healed broken bones.
A lifetime of self hate.

I can't live.

I can only
Offer a blood sacrifice in penance
To every self conscious fear.
Every hesitation
And savage self evaluation.

Nothing I've done is good
So, burn it all, won't you?
Mix these words and this body in the charred remains of the fire.

Return to dust
And silence.

Nolan Bucsis May 16

I Thought I had Something to Say

What's one more paranoid delusion
To throw on the pyre
Of my imagined self.

I thought I'd notice
My hallucinations.
But, they're just banal
Misunderstandings my eyes make.
Mistranslated apophenia
Glossolalia,
Babeling nothing out my mouth.

And, I hide in the dark,
In a crevice in reality
Alone.
Buffered from the pertubations.
Of the chaos.
Away from other people.

Away from stiumulus.
Flickering unconnected neon signs,
Hearing speech in the percolating nothing of the din,
Flashbacks and other intrusive.
Thoughts.

Like, is this real?
Was that a memory?
Or a dream I had one day
Awake.

I wish my mental health
Wasn't so discombobulatedly asymmetrical
Or poorly written.

Thinking I'm so deep,
Profound, well put
Together.

If only I had the chance
Or motivation
To fail.

Some day all of this
Will make sense.

Or I'll get lost in losing my ability
To keep a thought longer
Than a calling card.

But who am I to hand out
References.
To something beyond what I am.