You stop crying out.
In pain.
When you realize.
No one cares.
But you.
So instead.
You figure out how to not.
Communicate.
Any discomfort.

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.

Janis always wails.
Me to some.
Kinda.
Good memory.
I had.

A place in time.
Where I'm.
Happy.
And everything.
Is ok.

Maybe around a.
Fire.

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.

Every hope I had for a future.
More meaningful.
Than just dying tomorrow.
Has disappeared.
And, now I like to stare.
At that liminal state before death.
That spot.
Somewhere far away.
Distant.
Like my gaze.
Trying not to get stuck in the.
Tomorrow.
That's no longer there.

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.

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

Most people die.
Old.
Slipping on wet showers.
Others.
Choke on candy.
Life is mostly.
Stupid.

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.

I desire.
Nothing.
More.
Than a catastrophic.
Chaos.
To die in.
Ecstasy.
Over stimulation.

I don't want to.
Breathe.
I just want.
To pass.
Away.
Into the absolution.
At the end.
Of the abyss.

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

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.

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.

We had our secret moments.
Didn't.
We.
Our own.
Thing.

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

What kinda happiness.
Is it.
That never shares with anyone.
And.
I'm more alive in my dreams.
Than being.
Cognizant.

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.

If that tooth.
Would just.
Catch.
On a small.
Piece.
Of your skin.
And tear open your throat.
I might be.
Happy.

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.

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

There's supposed to be something.
Profound.
At the end.
Of this suffering.

But all there is.
Is the knowledge.
You.
Were.
Right.

It never really mattered.
Either way.
All there is is emptiness.
And that wretched.
Inner voice.
Just.
Repeating itself.

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.

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.

I'm staring into that hole I see in reality.
I'm vacant.
Hopeless.
My mouth agape.
My eyes.
Fixated on that distant nihilism.
At the end of the Apocalypse.
A cataclysmic crescendo replaced with the absence, filled with I and other Sons of Perdition.
Wiped off your feet.
Like so much.
Random dust.

I hear that low dull buzzing din.
Of my internal monologue.
Running around.

And I want out.

But, I'm sickeningly.

Meanderingly.

Bothersomely.

Alive.

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.

Yes I will take the blame.
For things that you've done.
And, I won't shirk from it.

Your guilt.

I'm more or less meaningless.
It bothers me naught.
I'm already dead.
I just keep walking forward.

Shrouded in the darkness of another.
Anonymous night.
Eternal dark, obsidian dawn.
I creep through the brushes and reeds.
To the sacrificial mount.
That the spirits told me were there.
The impulse of an evil God of hidden.
Places.

And,
These delusions can be made poignant.
With good enough prose or ritual poetry.
As my offering of tobacco is accepted.
My austerity of poverty and insanity, reinforced.
I do the dance that comes to mind.
Flaring out my peacoat.
In raven's dance.

I walk the earth with bare clad feet.
As the dirt embeds into my sole.
I become the black foot.
Pale skinny
Satan
Opposer.
The Gaelic gaoler of lost souls.
Wirey, taught, and high tension.

The one who said no.
I'd rather go it alone like Esau Lord.
Find my way in the wilderness.
Castigate the humans.
Too proud to bend the knee.
To an abysmal race bereft of creativity.
I bring nothing.
For you.

And, I illumine you.
I cast my own shadow on the wall.
The light shines out of me.
Into.
The truth in disgust.
The beauty in filth.
The righteousness in rebellion.
I die on every hill.
Kamikaze existential destroyer.

Clad in taboo things.
Dripping in the disgust.
Of the unclean.

I am a beast.

I am filth.

I am a warning.

Don't get too close.
I ******* bite.