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.

All I have left of my former life.
Is empty notebooks.
A photograph or two.
And her memory.
Written all over it.

No one writes me love songs.

And, if they did.
I'd simply just burn them.

Like so many thrown away possibilities.
I don't want.

Like so many people.
So many temporary obsessions.

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.

It feels like I'll never get out.
From under this rock.

It will just weigh me down.
In perpetual melancholy.

Irreverent nothingness.

I feel better alone.
Unnoticed.

It's always away.
From an uncomfortable.
I'm here.

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.

Hope is always scarce.
In the middle of.
These doldrums.
Where the shore seems so far away
With nothing to take you there.

I've just accepted the lack.
Of forward momentum.
And wait.
To die.
Adrift at sea.

I ain't your bro.
I'm an amiltryptamine.
Away from an.
Overdose.

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.

She said she didn't.
Know.
Why I stared at her.
Or what that.
Meant.

Lies.
I told her.

She just wants.
More attention.

I didn't answer.
When she asked me.
To stay.

I just left.
To be.
Alone.

Love me.
Or something.
I don't really care.
And I never really did.
I just faked it cause.
I was told to.
I felt responsible.
For existing.

And, now.
I'd rather run away.
Motion keeps me moving.

I'm trying to freeze myself.
In thought.
And become immortally relaxed.
In an understanding.
Why.
Is there any of this.
And me.
Just.
Broken

I want to be forgotten.
By everyone.
And just appear.
On the shores of reality.
A different person.

I'm symetrically out of place.
Every where I go.
Covered in the filth of a thousand chain smoked.
Cigarettes.
And, the offal.
Smelling foul.
Mould.
****.
Betraying the lie of potential.
In my face.

Thank you for the good times.
I had.
My oasis.
My dearly kept memories

These figments of you.
That from time to time.
I think of.

It's never all bad.
Sometimes I can struggle through.
The misery of you're gone.
And feel warm.
Like I was in your arms.
And, when you smiled.

Just.

For.

Me.

When she smiles.
I feel good.
And a lot of the time.
I'd like to just hold her.
Hear her laugh.

A personal.
Private.
Moment.

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

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

Every time I experience or create something beautiful.
It's lost on me.
Like all those long hours of conversations.
With the minds of a missed lover.
I just walk away.
I disappeared.
As though nothing happened.
Blaming myself.
For my lack of perfection.

There's nowhere I can go.
When the next cataclysmic catastrophe destroys my life.
There is no safe place of sentiment and empathy.
Nothing and no one there to tell me it's ok.

No food.

No kind words.

No favours or luck.

Just.
Struggle.

Just.
Motion forward to somewhere else.
Problem solving myself from here to there.
As it comes.

The future so distant.
All I can imagine.
Is these tired blistered feet.
Walking down some burning asphalt.

My soundtrack the crickets and wild things.
That live beyond the ditch.
Etched in my mind.
Perpetually leaving.

We sang drunken requiems.
To the loss.
Of our future.
In those old cities.
When we were young.
And.
Idealistic.

I remember people I see in stores.
Because.
They're the first humans I see.
After finally being forced.
Outside.
And, I hate it.
Too much intimacy.

No one I know will even.
Find out when I.
Die.

They're just personas.
Avatars and text on.
Screens.

A figment of my imagination.
Projected out there on that impossible.
Perch.

That I can't land on.
Where telegrams can only reach.

No one will give them my obituary.
I'll just recede.
Into nothing.

Was it love that brought me here.
With you.
Or was it just the idea I had.
That this.
Would be different.