I feel as if I have passed on through.
The mortal veil.
And come to my judgement.

One that does not bode.
Well for me.

I'll be condemned.
To more of this torpor.

This inadequate existence.

It feels like I'll never get out.
From under this rock.

It will just weigh me down.
In perpetual melancholy.

Irreverent nothingness.

I'm trying to freeze myself.
In thought.
And become immortally relaxed.
In an understanding.
Why.
Is there any of this.
And me.
Just.
Broken

The future is supposed to be bright.
But for me.
It's just there.
Waiting.
I'm stuck out here.
In these doldrums.
Staring at the horizon.
Wondering when I'll do more.
Than freeze in place.

I've been working on being.
Alone.
So long that I don't know.
What to do.
To get out of it.

Maybe if I run away into intoxication.
I'll feel better.

I bear this witness.
To arms.
Outstreched in the night.
Thirsting, for blood.
And annihilation.

I sit and wait for some sort of miracle.
But nothing ever comes.

And, I've gotten used to being alone.
Passing the time between here and.
Eternity.
Motionless.
Agape at an absurd universe that taunts me.
With lies of success.

Tomorrow.
Tomorrow is always fixed in my mind as some antediluvian.
Memory I don't have.
Tomorrow.
Where I'll fix what's wrong with me.
Do the things I talk about.

But, not today.
Never today.
Today is for the nostalgia of coulda done better.

Everything.
I.
Have.

It's not worth much anyway.

Believe.
A.
Word.
You.
Say.

I'll wake up tomorrow and you'll be in my dreams.
Stuck.
A good memory gone bad.

And I'll see you in her face.

Hear your in her voice.

And I'll push her away.
Too.

Was it love that brought me here.
With you.
Or was it just the idea I had.
That this.
Would be different.

All I have left of my former life.
Is empty notebooks.
A photograph or two.
And her memory.
Written all over it.

No one I know will even.
Find out when I.
Die.

They're just personas.
Avatars and text on.
Screens.

A figment of my imagination.
Projected out there on that impossible.
Perch.

That I can't land on.
Where telegrams can only reach.

No one will give them my obituary.
I'll just recede.
Into nothing.

Maybe out there somewhere.
In the by and by.
I'll find that motivation.
I'm lacking.

To.
Get out of this.
Coma with lucid dreams.

Still I live in stasis.
Still I don't do a thing.
Still that constant depression.

I just exist.
And put matter in my mouth.

How I long for normal.

I slept through tomorrow.
Woke up in why now.
And I'm about to recede.
Back into the nightmares.
I have every night

I'm a useless eater.

So I starve myself.
So as not to waste the food.

Just everyone's expectations.

I don't know you.
But, who I do know.
I didn't like.

And, we never bonded.
You were just young.
And stupid.

And you annoyed me too much.

I can't remember the sound of her voice.
Her touch.
Or anything we said to each other in confidence.
I don't remember her laugh.
Or the way she smelled.

But her face is etched.
Into my very being.

So much so that I wish.
I could just.
Forget.

I woke up and I was alive.
A man.
And now.
Now I'm dead.

Just

Walking upright.

There is no concern for the feelings of a loved one.
When you're lost out there.
In the comfortable silence.
Of aeons.

Unconcsious.

Subsumed in the warm bath.
Of annihilation.

Beyond speech.

I feel better alone.
Unnoticed.

It's always away.
From an uncomfortable.
I'm here.

I have always.
Hated myself.

That's why I'm so surprised.
When other people like.
Me.

What's the point in this.
Self expression of miserable thoughts.
Tomorrow.
Is gone and now I recede into a never was.
Chasing delusions.
Running from life.
And maybe tomorrow.
It will get better.
And maybe tomorrow.
I'll be dead.

As though these sad songs mean anything other.
Than I'm back to being normal.
Depressed.
Listless.
And an utter.
Disappointment.

Up there in that distraction.
That unmedicated delirium.
I feel normal and curse the injustice.
When really.
All I am is bored.
And oh so severely.
Damaged.

With no self expression left.
But a blank stare and impulsive displays.
Of go away.
I don't want to human anymore.

There's always a creeping terror.
Liminal time.
A sinking feeling of guilt.
Apprehensive self loathing
And, an urge to just recede.
Into that murmur at the edge of existence.
That lost place.
Some where as vacant as me.
Right now.
Somewhere I can float.
Free of my body.
Liberated from this melancholy
When my depression hits