How do I make this feel better.
How do I **** the memories.
That once I was a beautiful could have been.
But now.
I just whittle away the hours.
Enter anguish when there's no more ****
No more alcohol or hours of video games.
Just to.
Waste my
Time.

Here sitting in my self abnegation.
In my sacred antipathy

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 don't care is the worst thing you can say.
To people in this age of infinite love.
Institutionalized compassion.
Where I'm required to lie.
About giving a ****.
Just to please the gods.
Of, "My fragile ego."

I am anathema.
I am apathetic.
A non person.
A ghost.
With no.
Offerings.

A hungry ghost.
The fragrance of rotting food.
On the porch.

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.

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.

It's that potent despair.
Standing over a dead life.
Gone before the miracle appeared.
And mundane.
Some realization I'm not quite where I want to be.
Or as high as I'd like.
But tomorrow is a curse cast from my yesterdays.
Today is a wallowing disgust.
And, my past, an abomination.
Why am I alive.
Just to struggle through the hard bits and reward myself with sloth. I spend a lot of days staring at nothing.
Hours.  Just.  Passing by.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

Destruction.
Desolation.

I offer you annihilation.

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.

I don't mean to.
But I can't care about anyone I hurt.

The broken hearts.
The let downs.
The impossible to remember intimate moments.
The love.
The promises of safety and permanence.

It all means nothing to me.
Just time.
And distance.

Ensconced in right now.

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.