If I could do it all again.
I wouldn't
I'd nod out.
Before I was born.
And live my extermination.
Negated.
Never was.

It's.
What I'd prefer.

I've spent a lot of time.
Just wasting it.
And the frustration builds up like my soon to come midlife crisis.
Could I have been something better than this.

Fumbled speech.
This.
Awkward glance.
This.
Apprehensive twitch.
This.
Somnolent nightmare.

I sleep through the days.
Disconnected from everything.

A loner on the run.
From nothing.
In particular.

I have nothing left.
To give you.
I gave it all away.

And now.
I stare into nothingness.
The abyssal night of stupidity.

Too many drugs when I was young.

And I can't make friends.
Don't know how.

And the words I used to relish.
Come so slowly and imprecise.
I chain smoke thought the days.

And escape more often than naught.

Into
One of my many vices.
Anything.
To stop my brain from thinking.

This is all hopeless.
And you're a ******* .
Who deserves nothing.

Hope is a lie they tell women.
So they take the abuse.
Of broken men.

And me.
It left a long time ago.
And, I'm just stuck.

With the bruises.
That beat it out of me.

The lies and the deceit.
The longing of.
Other people.

Where do I leave these words she gave me?
Where do I put the intimate things?

Where do I let go of the letdown we became.
How do I forget the beautiful could have been.

Here in this regret.
Here in this middle of nowhere.
Here where the rocks murmur a name I no longer hear.

Here despondent.
Here derived.

Contrition.
Torpor.

It's good that my memory has been damaged.
Irrevocably from all the drugs I consumed.
It's perfect.
I can't even remember the things.
I just want to
Forget.

I imagine she's out there.
In that lauded by and by.
Thinking of me.

I hope.

Yet.
I don't know who she is.
And I understand.

She'll just.
Find.
Someone else.
Someone better.

Cause I'm just ossified in my regret.
Depressed because I'm alive.
Socially absent.

Living alone gets me down.
But I long for her hypothetical embrace.
Her ill defined face.

And my love.
For some ghost.
I can only imagine.
Out there.

I am chased by a ravenous past.

It obliterated right now.

And tomorrow.
Has slipped away into the sublimation of amnesia.

Where I rest.
In a desecrated hollowed out holy land.

I'm stagnant.
In this indoor mania.
My cabin fever.
The isolation.
And the world keeps passing me by and leaving me in the ditch.
Again