Still I live in stasis.
Still I don't do a thing.
Still that constant depression.

I just exist.
And put matter in my mouth.

How I long for normal.

I want to scream through.
This excruciating boredom.
Maybe into a purpose.
More complex than.
How do I get through today.

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

We are the last children.
Of ostracized individualism.
The dark creepy kids of the witching hour.
Drab dismal black.
Clad in ghosts.

Left aside.
Losers.
Rejects.

Caste out dalits.
Who could never fit into.
Whatever normal is.
Unless we are confined in your consternation.
The someone's who refuse your society.
A jail of good intentions.
And pride.

Unlike you.
We live in twilight.
Sleep at dawn while waking up right before dusk.
To watch the sun set on our dismal days.
Never to rise in us again in day time.

We are.
Delighting in darkness.
Dancing in shade with the oscillating shadows.
Of what's going bump in the dark.
When all of you are asleep.

Maybe we aren't pretty.
Maybe we are a melancholic menagerie of misfits and malcontents.

But how dare you call us vain.
We don't want your attention.
When like insects we scurry away from the illumination of your light.

We'd prefer to be left alone.
Ignominiously ignored infamous itinerant.
Mendicants of Midnight.
To own our own lives.
Ran on our own circadian rhythm.

But you.
Have dragged us into the sun.
Demanded we obey.
Conform to your cancerous cacophony of fragile ideas, tiny egos, and your desire to destroy.

So why then.

Are you shocked that we hurt ourselves.
Hurt you with our existence.
And lash out in desperation for the dying of the light.

Life was better when you left us alone.
And I will certainly shut out the rising sun.
With a cascade of blasphemy.
Pouring out of the sword of my mouth.

I woke up and I was alive.
A man.
And now.
Now I'm dead.

Just

Walking upright.

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.

I stare
Listless
Into the static
On the horizon.

As I lose myself
In a digital abyss.

The sun never rises online.

I've lost all the eloquence
I had in my youth.
No more soliloquies to sing to Shakespeare.
No pretty polished words
Rolling out of my mouth in verbose patterns.
Permutated with proper punctuation.
Enunciated ecstasy, syntactically strewn all around.
A cluster **** of cleverly constructed.
Sentences.

Philologically
These Latin rites and roots sound so.
Pompous.
Derivative.

What's my politics of the English language?
No,
Not me.
I prefer new slang written on old scripts.

And.

I always thought French etymology
Was exquisite.
Until I got lost in the suffixes piling up
Ontop of the prefixes.

I suppose it's
Better, than the parochial slang

That
Recently I've been saying
Dim rugged dull and dreary
Stodgy, little words.

I blurt out my base roots of Saxons.
I speak of earth and dirt and yeomen
In my lowly German.

My

Monosyllabic mutterings of a ***** making it up.
In grunts and moans
And ugly things
Glottal stops.

One axiom.
One goal.
Barking out a reduction.
Me, and,
Brevity's sake.

So let's be blunt.
I'm too old for tomorrows.
Hard to have a midlife crises
When the first half was already spent
On tempting an overdose.
To spite the drugs.
Sung in an apropos song.

And it's kinda late for teenage angst.
When I grow up
Has been happening for two
Decades

So
Why do I still feel this way?
So strange and unusual
Fumbling through my words
Like an incompetent juggler
A lexical masterpiece
Clogged in Glossolia.

Now,
Don't worry, friend.
I don't even understand what I'm
trying to say.
Whether profound
Or pathetic.

Certainly
I don't take it back.

It's a.
Cold hard.
World out there.
Kiddies.

Stay safe won't you.
Stay sane must you.
Stay normal lest you stand out.

And become.
Destroyed.

Oh kiddies.
I know.

For I'm as cold as frozen nitrogen.
Hard as an isolated diamond.

Looking for my rough.

And it's always a sob story they're singing.
Always a love song they're writing.

And there's no better torch song than an epitath.

Gone.
Too.
Soon

Strain to see the.
Light at dusk.
Or you'll miss it.
Your last.
Chance.

The only one you get.

I've lived alone so long.
I think I got lost in the dust piling up.
In this empty head of mine.
Stuck.
On.
Panic.
Accept the fear.
Melt into the moment.

How can you know
Anything about me
When I whisper to myself
In broken thoughts.
Inconsistently incomprehensible
Masochistic mantras.

I
want
out.

I am filled with irrational fear.
And a deep hatred.
Of myself.

Everything crashes.
And I run.
Away
From here.

Into an impossible panic.
Heart dropping.
Knuckle white.
Terror.

I'm tired of living

In my good memories,
There's entrancing music I never heard
Playing over a soundtrack
Whhile travelling, high
With the first her I ever had,
The first
romance.

Barrelling down the highway,
In the backseat of someone
Else's old car,
Quebec rolling away
Outside the window
Trees and plains
intermixed
with mountains.

So much
potential,
So many great things to do,
The
future
was mine,
Right now,
Back then
though,
All I could think about
Was her.

And she was there,
Real,
Beaming radiant in the sun,
Holding hands
A warmth hotter than the sun,
Comfortable.

But she's gone,
Like they all are,
Sometimes I like
To think
About those few.

Ghosts,
That haunt my days.