We're all so absent.
Crying in tandem to our dying dreams.
Please.
Come back.
From so far out there you float in miasma.
Give us back our hope.
The things that get us through our days.
Our cherished.
Memories.

But the empty don't dream.

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 drift into unconsciousness.
As there's no reason.
To be awake.

Maybe it was something I said.
Or maybe something I did.
I can't quite remember and memories are for the dead,

Was it a thought?
One of those false memories really dreams.
And crying.
Again.

Was it guilt by association with these low life friends from foreign places and afraid of the light.
My destroyer.

Whatever it was.
It made you leave and you've gone.
Not I
Ossified in want to be.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Nothing ever turns out.
The way I want it to.

It just happens.
And I cope.

As best.
I.
Can.

Or not at all.

I can feel the bullet powering through my skull.
And.
The infinite release of negation.

There I am.
In my mind.
With this familiar refrain.
To alleviate the frustration.
To correct the mistake.
That is me.

All life is.
Is suffering without end.
Failed dreams.
Slowly decaying into infirmity.

Wouldn't it be so nice.
For that millisecond of transition into something black.
Forever.
Something empty.
Forever.

It's not like it matters.
It's not like I matter.
No one does.

So I fantasize a cold steel grey barrel pressed firmly against my temple.
And.
One.
Millisecond.

Then.
Red.

Against the wall.

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

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'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.