Is it simple.
Or is it drawn out and vindictive.
Is it painful.
Or is it just passing through.

Love?
Love never liked me.

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.

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 feel like exploding.
But I haven't a fuze.

And I've been thinking about leaving.
But I haven't a place to go.

And this alogia is getting out of hand.
But I've lost the will to speak.

The frustration builds.
The boredom grows.
All I do is nod off.
Into a fearful.
Rest.

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.

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.

Every day I cough out more days.
I cut off of my life.
My protest against existence.
Slow suicide that seems to have caught up.

Sometimes you get confused.
At the terror of an immediate death.
A stroke.
Or a heart attack.

You can taste your rotten.
Breath.
Feel the oedema.

But, smile.
Getting lost in the delerium.
A lack of oxygen.
Euphoric decay.
The bodies defense mechanism.

And I rest well.
In the knowledge that relatively soon.
All those things.
That life I had.
That aborted life.
My lack of motivation.

And my isolation.
All my self destruction.
My abomination.

And, I'll curl up.
Shedding pounds like.
Bad experiences.
And dry up in the sun.

With each failing *****.
Each laboured breath.
I'm free.
I can fade away.

I'm washed clean.
Receding into the back ground noise.
That calm place.

Where nothing moves.

Everything in still.
And.
Constant.

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 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.

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.

I endure for I am hard.
Yet the struggles are never easy.
Always rock bottom.
And, I'm assured this is it.

Torment.
Loss.
Absolution.

So many restarted lives I'm the Buddha of malcontents.
Irrational fear.

Isolation.

All the drawn out strained things.
I'm an avatara of falling apart.
The gestalt of sloth.

A zeitgeist.
For failure.