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'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.

Now.
I disconnect myself.
From that synthetic reality.
The serendipitous escape.

Where for once.
I was part of a greater community.
Something different.
If only in my mind.

The fantasy.
Was always.
A change from the empty stillness.
The mute conversations I have with myself.
A distraction from unremitting failure.

Now.
I'm not so schizophrenically.
Detached.
Stuck in the minds of other people.

I think.
What exactly did I learn.
From that grandiose delusion of mine.
From that failure to connect.
From that fragile persona.
That was never me.
My never was.


Nothing.

I learned nothing.

I'm going back to all alone.
It's much more comfortable.
More, serene.

True to myself.

The thoughts in my mind.
No longer coalesce into substance.

Something beautiful.

I'm stuck in confused.
Afraid of other people.

Incapable.
Of.
Interacting

In any.
Meaningful.
Way.

Eventually it dawned on me.
That grimacing when I was in pain.
Was to communicate distress.
To someone who was never there.
Now I just.
Take it.

A rage that
Cannot be sated,
I project,
Across infinity
To those I hate.

Destruction.
Desolation.

I offer you annihilation.

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

Feelings come and go in irregular patterns.
It's always most joyous.
When I have my flat affect.
Something very hard.
To read into.
Some very cold fish.

From the inside
Of the coma.
I breathe rhythmically.
Out of step
With
The outside world.

Until I wake up.
And,
Mourn the loss of dreams.

Synchronized with the depression
Of aware.

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.

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.

Hopeless.
As all that potential dried up.
Into oh so much ash.
Placed in an urn.
Scattered on the sea.

It's just that reality.
Never turns out quite like it.
Should.

A withered future.
And nothing gained.
So I stick to now.

And,
Medication.

Starting over is another chore.
Another necessity.
One more thing remained unaccomplished.
One more arbitrary rule.

Maybe I should just sleep.
Sleep and recede into the somnolence.
Fade off into nothing.
Of note.

And never was.
Something.
Just.
Loss

It's that nihilism that draws me in.
Gets me lost in her emptiness.
Where all we can hear.
Is the breath.
We can't catch.

Who are you that.
Thinks I"m so great.
I'm nothing.
Other than your grandiose over thought.
Imagination.
Barely able to feed myself.
Let alone be your.
Muse.

This stability of mine.
Is depressing
The doldrums of routine.
They keep me unfilled.

And,
oh I long.
For adventure that ends in ruin.

And,
oh I long.
For Dionysian ecstasy.

But.
That all lead to squander and squalor.
To trauma and decay.
That all lead to death.
Minutes away from the reaper.

So.
I keep at the Apollonian ordering of chaos and revel in the boredom of banal.
And I'm less inspired.

But well dressed.
But well fed.
But always high.

Maybe just maybe at the end of the dredgery I'll feel fullfilled.
Like all of this mattered.

But I'm a husk of an interesting person.
And the tumult of chaos and drifting.

Giving up.

Still natters at my mind.
Like my unfinished books.
Like my drug induced amnesia.

It all gets forgotten in my mundane days.
My necessity.