I try to remember.
That in the grand scheme.
Of things.
I have never been more.
Than an utter failure.
Who managed to live longer.
Than he should have.

Ain't no rockbottom.
When.
There's no where to fall to.
Floating.
So far out in.
Space.

And,
I've been a loser.
Since I can remember.
With nowhere to go.

Nothing changes.
Nothing's really the matter.
Just.
Today.
Like yesterday's tomorrow.

Another side note.
In my personal diary.
Of it doesn't matter.
Never did.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

She loved me then.
When I was a potential.
A small seed in the mind's eye.
A possibility.

Yet I let her down.
I turned the greener grass a deeper shade of brown and wilted on a tree.

I'm now regret.
Frustration.
And nagging melancholy.
Twitching in the nightmare.

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.

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.

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.

There are no troubling.
Thoughts.
In the emptiness.
Of another couple tranquilizers.
Far more than I could have taken.
But, how else do I feel like.
Drowning.
While I'm awake.
Other than being consumed.
By chemical apathy.

I'm sorry.
I say this with.
Honesty.

I
Gave.
Up a.
Long.
Time ago.

I'm just waiting to die.
Unconscious.
In a drug.
Coma

I never learned.
How to get attached.
When all I do is run.
To somewhere else.
Otherwise.
These ghosts.
They still haunt me.

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.

I've been working on being.
Alone.
So long that I don't know.
What to do.
To get out of it.

Maybe if I run away into intoxication.
I'll feel better.

I have always.
Hated myself.

That's why I'm so surprised.
When other people like.
Me.

And maybe this too.
Like our lives.
Are stolen.
And sold.
At a higher price.
Than.
Free.

Hope has.
Just turned.
Into the same routine.
To try to get through.
Being alive.

Now I long for.
Quick days.
Eternity reduced.
To a milisecond panic.

No more.
Bad dreams.
No more self loathing.
The emptiness.
Of I didn't know.

I seem to exist.
In the tension between.
Each here and now.
In this moment.
Always.
Anxious.
Waiting.
For something.
To happen.