Life.
Is just.
Waiting to.
Die.

While my.
Internal monologue.
Gently.
Weeps.

This.

Is a.
Letting
Go.

Of something.
I.
Never.
Had

If.
I've.
Ever.

Written.
Anything beautiful.

I absolve myself.

Of.
It.

Death.

Is just a.
Dissolution.

Into.
The.

Memory.
Of.

A.

Self.

Everything.
Collides.
Together.

In a kaleidoscopic.
View.

Then.
Dissipates.

Back.

Into.
Nothing.

We went.
Somewhere.

Vague.

According to.
The.

Directions.

I had.
Things.
To say.

But

I've.
Lost my mind.

I used.
To love.

Things.
And.
People.

But.

I found out.
I didn't need them.

For anything.

I couldn't.

Do.
Myself.

Everyone
is so.

Sad.

I gave up
on life.

But,
They aren't
sad
about.

Me.

They're sad
about.

How I
relate
to them

I used.
To get.
Lonely.

Until.

I got used.
To being.
Alone.

I get sad sometimes.
When I think about all.
That's happened.

But.
I got.
Used to it.

I holistically.
Preclude your.
Mindfulness.

For the upaya.

Of a burnt.
Old.
Cigarette.

Everything is so.
Elegant.

Everything is so.
Neat.

Harmonious.

I wonder if the forests.
Will be just as beautiful.
On fire.

As they are.
In my memory.

Everything is empty inside.
And I see your passing face.

Somewhere down the line.

I thought I knew you.
But maybe it was just the image.

I had in my mind.

This is the wasted space.
I take up.

Starving myself as punishment.

Just can't connect.
And be.
Pro social.

My mind's numb.
My memory fuzzy.
And.
I can't remember what I told to you.

Whether good.
Bad.
Or somewhere middling.
In between.

It all just dissolves into an amorphous mess.

My memory.
Images of where I used to be.
Fragile enough.

To be forgotten.

All there is.
Is the silence.
The high pitched squeal.
Of the death of my hearing.

And.
I can hear the emptiness punctuated with electrical whines.
Anticipating something to just.
Fill the air.

With an angsty.
Revolt.
Against the.
Calm.

All the things I havent said.
I'd like to say.
Sometime far away.
Maybe, before I'm dead.

I've lost the motivation.
I've forgotten the plot.
To my multi syllabic salvation.
With an obfuscated forget me not.

I've written out my frustration.
Onto the rap sheet.
Of when I fell asleep.
Can't write with this lack of attention.

I think I'm trying to  resolve.
The contradiction in my mind.
Writing something to absolve.
Me, of this truth I just can't find.

I have so many things to say.
Just, maybe not today.

I don't know the words.
That meant so much.
To you.

I just said them.

I'm always at my best.
By myself.

And, if you plumb these.
Fathomless depths.

Of my inner life.

You'll find all of my.
Hyperbole.
I use to comfort me.

I coulda been something better.
Than a failed poet.
Who never wrote a good word.

At least I like to think I tried.
But, really.
I was just screaming at myself.

An empty head full of pointlessness.
Facts, theories, ideas.
Tepid facile fraudulent half thought out fantasies.

And, my friend.
If you find yourself in my personal.
Ocean.

I'll steal the water.

**** it deep in my core.
With all the interesting things I think.

No one really knows.
Cause I don't tell them.

In that hypothetical transcript of my personal failure.
I'll make the inconsistencies.
some of  these.
Vague requests to just.

Leave me alone.

To dance.
And be forgotten.

God's mistake.
A contradiction.

Nothing.

I'm dying on the inside.
Every single day.
And, I meander through the torpor.
Into listlessness.
And an apropo addendum.

I'm sorry
I guess.

Incapable of change.

Death is a welcome friend taking too long at the convenience store.
And, I'm patiently.

Waiting.

For my friend to appear.
Either asked for or uninvited.

I wish he would hurry.
Up.

Everyone is either dead.
Or I got lost a long time ago and they just couldn't
locate me.

And, we don't speak anymore.
So there's always just me to pick up these ashes.
Of my social scene.

And, these habits.
Get repetitive.

A recurring nightmare of banal idle boredom.
The chore of exercise for your basic transportation.
Pacing the halls in pensive angst.
Trying to fight the motorists.
As they pass by.

They don't know I'm king ****.
Of my own.
**** island.

Even if I walk the Earth in exile.

I'm at a loss for words.
Whether what I say is important.

Or some idle.
Threat.

To punish.

No one.
But.
Myself.

I sighed my last sigh.
With nothing to show.
For all this wasted time.

The still buzz on the screen.

Electricity.

And a passion.
I could never find.

In these dying nights of summer.
Where the chill rises up on these kaleidoscope sunsets.
I can feel the sun bleeding into the horizon.
Tortured.
Haemorrhaging all over the sky.

I try to reflect on something.
Better than just being in the.
Moment.

But, alas.
I'm at a loss for words.

And,

I'm not very eloquent anymore.

Every day.
I feel like sleeping.

Rather.
Be unconscious than this.
Self conscious.
Subconsciously neurotic.
Paranoid ideation.

I live.

Not to mention.
The delusions.

Better to fantasize.
Than bother with the day.
To days.

Of getting up.
Getting high.
Lost in a radicalized.
Weaponized.
Grave yard of ideas.

Ranting to no one so
publicly.
It would be embarassing.

If I didn't know how to.

Disappear.

Some kinda.
Dismissive avoidant style.

Beating that internal bad object.
To a well earned death.

And, at least.
I still dream.

He said I was.
High tension.
It's not like he's wrong.
I do scream at cops.

And, find myself in institutions.
Involuntary circumstances.
Of a rotten mind left to gaze.

Into that dark nothingness.
That void of regret.

A black chasm.
I find myself falling into.

An infinite void.
Of negative emotions.

Anhedonia.
Got me down.

I awake to light.
Boring itself through my skull.
And,
Baby,
There ain't no us.

There's just me

With a headache.

Reevaluating my life.
Choices.

My life is up for interpretation.
Discussion, I never wanted it to be.
As though there was a right way.
To live.
Or be.
Living.

As though my lived experiences.
Were just mirages.
Mistakes and maladaptive memories.
Maybe.
It was all a bad.
Dream.

Even as moments reside deep in my subconscious.
And, how I felt.
Which isn't much.  These days.
Cause why feel bad.
When you.
Can just.
Not feel at all.

Lost in that stoic impulse.
To  endure.  Every.
Loss.  As a passing of leaves in autumn.
The heat of summer and i's dissipation.
Something.
To be uninvested in.

Resilient.
Yolked to the failures.
Of a wasted life.

Punctuated.

With some decent days.

It always felt like something.
Inevitable.
That at some point in time.

I'd be.
Good.
At something and all the ****.
I went through.

Would
mean something.

And, it was for a lack of trying.
Cause I didn't bother.
Not that I regret these nights I spend.
In my mind imagining images of magnificent things.

Better than this.
Subliminal torture.
Waiting for the patterns to equal.
A some of its parts.

I just can't quit.
These confessions.

That I'm not here anymore.
My fantasy babe, my partner,
My magic moment denied.
My cowards nature belied.

I'll scream passively into the void.
As I enjoy these.
My last moments.
Awake.

To recede into the banal mundane.
Of the routine.

Pity party.

I was never good.
At growing up.

I still.

Get high.
Sleep too late.
Hate myself.
With teenage angst.

Never once did.
I come around  to these.
Inevitable life lessons.
I was supposed to find in the meandering.
Of life.

I still get arrested.
Still run from my problems.
Don't want no wife.
No long term friends.

Nothing to bind me to reality.
As though I'm playing the game of life.
Correctly.

I keep making temporary solutions.
Permanent.
Bad choices.

I
Ain't got no white picket house.
No long term girlfriend.
I'm hardly ever sober.

Milling about in the ennui.
Of poverty.
Tons of time.
Nothing to buy.

It's still the herb
That comforts me.
As though I"m still 16.

With me and my neurosis.
These learned behaviours I taught myself.
Aren't,
Exactly functional.

I'll be something.
Someday.
Somehow.

I guess.

It's not that important.

I'm just.
Waiting to die.

At any age.

I used to talk to him.
In the backyard.

Filled with
dog ****.
We never
cleaned.

But his old yarns.
Were as lively.

As the sky burning purple and orange.
In these
prairie sunsets.

I suppose he was dying.
Then.
But,
not dead enough.
To not be able to tell.
A tall tale.
Or two that.
Changed,
every time he told them

I got lost in his.
Used to bes.
And, people who
ain't no angels.
Setting each other on fire.
For five dollar debts.

But,
It went further.
Back then.

Moving boulders with his hands.
And the backstory.
Of my own little.
**** town.

Leather brown skin baked in the sun
every day.
Lost in things he'd hoard.
Mining for some
random signifcance.

I tried to find.
The patterns to his.
Crazy stories.

His unhappy story.

And, how entertaining they were.

Eventually.
He died.

And, the dogs.
Ate him.

We used to dance.
With each other.
When there was noone there.

Singing nothings to each other.
In whispered jokes.
And, know me nots.

You told me it.
Didnt matter.
How I looked.
Just had to.
Move  to the beat.
Comes up sometimes when.
I'm lonely.
Mom.

Like some old Motown Song.
Dull hum on a record player.
The tube television.
Static and syndication

And I don't wanna know.
If it was a dream.
Or not.

Cause, I"m still there I hope.
Dancing til I'm dead.

Coulda been something beautiful.
And,
It sure is nostalgic

Tomorrow.
Coulda been something.
If I wanted to be
there.

Seems like I'm.
Just waiting
for the
world to end.

The horizons are
on fire.
Death coming from
above.
On wings of whispered.
Annihilation.

I'd rather be travelling.
But.
Thinkin of running away somewhere.
Else.
Somwehere safe.
Though,
I never do.

And, I can't escape the.
Shock.
Wave.

I'm just running on empty.
Hopped up on adrenaline.

Avoiding flashes in the distance.
Suns being born.

Me

Though.

I've got
cobwebs in my
mind.
Forgetting how to think.
When wit is all I need.
To sleep.
Or dream.

May this
Terror flee me.
As I'm.
Occupying my time.
With a poor
short term memory.

With
denial.

Punishment for something.
I
never
did.

And I hear the air raid siren.
Bleating in my mind.

Is this love.
In the age of information.

Losing everything
with no power to.
Stop it.

I wrote you so many poems.
I forgot which ones they were or their name.
Just a bleeding into itself of yesterdays and regrets.

Who knew you'd tell me once not to tell you what to think.
And, I wouldn't.
And, I didn't.

But, me, on myself, on how I behave.
I just fade away faster than usual these days.
When someone abandons me.

Once again I must subvert my own interests.
For the fantasies about myself.
In other people's mind.

So, blame me for my response I guess.
I wouldn't know.
You left without a word.
No need to communicate.
To who you claim to love.

Or I could get angry.
Frustrated.
Passionate.
Something, I guess.

But, I don't.
I never have.

I just leave and move on.

can't remember the.
Point.
This all went from some romantic misadventure.
With my life in danger.

And,
Turned into.

Just another day.
Just more lost dopamine.
Just a ******.

I hide it now.
Or not.
You can't tell if I'm high.
When I'm wailing at that wall again.
Even when I'm sober
But, the only difference between acid and my psychosis is that acid is predictable.

Best not to think about the copious amounts I do.
Or the.
LD50.
That I thought was safe.

Somewhere in here there's a drugstore cowboy.
Shooting something other than the moon.

Hedonism they call it.
As though these stupors I get into.
Are enjoyable.

Poppycock.

It's.

Just another day.
Another pathology.
Another unresolved internal contradiction.

Friend, maybe it's the style.
But, all I know.
Is that I cant stand not being.
Comatose.

I can't get going.
On this horribly dull day.
I'm depressed.
As always.

And,
There's no hope.
No help.
No sympathy.
No nothing.

Not for me.

Just staring at a wall.
Distractions.
And.
Death.

Am I as important to you.
As you are to me.

I hold onto these memories.
Even though I've tried to forget.

And, you were my everything.

And, you were my light.

And,
Now.

I just stare vacant into the soft whimper I've become.
Feed my isolation.

Stare at the wall.