I remember how she'd laugh.
And the way she felt laying there.
When we just looked at each other.
It was warm.
It was comfortable.

She said the most endearing thing.

You make me feel safe.

Now.

I just feel bad.
About ******* it up.
With nothing,
Gained.

Everything,
Lost.

What happens for you.
When you scream at the impossible.
Thinking it wants to listen.

It just goes.
About its day.
Motivated by its own mundane meaning.
Devoid of feelings.

Cold.
Stark.
Barren.
Inert.

It would be nice.
If at the end of forever.
All of this.
Meant something more.
Than just.
Witnessing the show.

This city.
Isn't something I remember.
Too harsh.
Too edgy.
Too many **** heads.
Constant violence and apprehension.
The modern urban world.
A paris on the prairies.

It burns.
Going down.
But I'm used to it.
Like it's normal.
And, I pass out.
By choice.

I remember.
Walking for hours.
And ending.
Up.
With her.
Arm.
Around me.
Warm.
Peaceful.

People think they know me.
But, they always.
Get it.
So.
Very.
Wrong.

I am constantly escaping.
From right now.
To get lost.
In.
Never was.

I never wanted to play.
Nice.
With the other kids.
I just.
Wanted to be alone.
Now.
I just wanna.
Recede on back into that nothingness.
I know so well.
My good friend.
Cushioned in silence.
Drifting by myself.

The pine trees sag.
Cushioned in the oh so very warm comfort.
Of the freshly fallen snow.
And, I walk.
Along the banks of a half frozen river.
Idolizing my isolation.
Engulfed in a familiar cold.
That I can bear.
For such a view.

Maybe one day.
I'll get myself out of this.
And, maybe.
Just smile.
Hoping tomorrow.
Never comes.

Stuck in the warm embrace.
Of I can.

What am I except.
Mean and sinew.
That breaks at inconvenient.
Times.

I can only see happiness.
In pictures.
Or videos of people.
Tranquil and content in nature.
While I force myself.
To rot.
In this small.
Room

I thought that.
Maybe.
I'd connected again.
To something greater that's outside myself who's existence was so poignant that I stopped for one moment to appreciate an honest true feeling or original thought that advanced both our understanding of ourselves through our shared humanity.
But,
You just wanted to **** me.

Being in time.
Feels like.
The ego and its own.
Beyond good and evil.
Something.
Absurd.
Some.
Fear and Trembling.

We live in old stained run down.
Modernist apartments.
Stale.
Mouldy.
Dead.
And, we do nothing outside.
Of trying to forget.
How menial it is.

To be.
Alive.

To be.
Average.

To be.
Poor.

Permanent idle hands.
And medicating away.
The boredom.

I can't stop.
Screaming.
Inside.

And.
I want to peel.
Off my skin.

Existence.
Constant frustration.

Abyssal.
Abysmal thoughts.
Drawn taught.

In
My
Mind.

The dirt caked on my hands.
I remember.
Sleeping on rocks.
Eating from the garbage.

And.
No one.
Ever helped.
Or thought.
I.
Needed it.

It's all my fault.
As.
They like.
To say.

But it doesn't.
Matter.
Anymore.

Everything is futile.
Just.
Barren empty fields.

My.
Slow.
Death.