I've lost all the eloquence.
I had when I was young.
And now I express myself.
In grunts and moans.
And ugly things.

And it's far too late for teenage angst.

So
Why do I still feel this way.
So unconnected and discombobulated.
Fumbling through my words.

I don't know you.
But, who I do know.
I didn't like.

And, we never bonded.
You were just young.
And stupid.

And you annoyed me too much.

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.

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.

Selfishness seems to be something succinct.
That I use to get through to you few.
As though I can show you what I know.
About peace.
Keeping pace.
With what I want when it's really just.
To keep me sane.

These purile placid waters.
Are dreary, dull, and depressing.
Rhythmically lapping against my barren shore.
The obligations of my regular raucus routine
Are unsatisfying
As the still waters linger in staid stagnation.
The excitement.
Evaporated.


These calm terse trade winds
Don't have much to seeemingly say.
Festering in this standing water
The pent up pinnacle of radical resignation.
To this biohazard of my life
Where the smell
Is as pungent.
As the mildew makes me mouldy.

The cascade of pent up emotion and energy.
Cusps over the pinnacle.
As the friction from the frozen emotions.
Deigns to break the dam.
Of the calm.

This is discouraging.
Dreary dismal boredom.
I crave excitement.
Bustling life and algae blooms.
The uncertainty of getting lost in the frantic energy of entropic disorder
The irregular arrangement of intrinsic energy and form.
Entices me with promises of
A sudden subliminal bursting
Forth from the chaos of life.
Into my own subjective sonnet of
Kamikaze choreography.
Music dripping with ******.
Kaleidoscopic cacophony.
The dischordant choir.
Singing the sanctified song of self sundering.

I pray

For Dionysian ecstasy.
The feeling of flying without wings
Light headed and lit like a sentry on the horizon
Dizzy on the dangerous down ***** drugs.
Weaving in and out of reality.
A phantom pharmacological pyre burning with spontaneous combustion.
I want the frantic fury of a fragile furious fiasco.
I want the sublimation of the self as a Saiva sadhu
Avatara of too much stimulation.
A caffeinated catastrophe.

The raucus road of righteous rage.
Leads to squander and squalor.
To trauma and decay.
It all leads to death.
Funneling me into
Minutes away from the 2 seconds too short.
Accidental overdose on purpose
Apathy announcing my altered state
I made a deal with the devil and the payment's due.
The deflation of failure.

The pain calms me down.

I'm living in that
One overgrown pauper's grave.
Where
Even beautiful boughs of begonias.
Dry up into dust.
Passion won't push me through.
This sudden mood swing.

So.
I keep at the Apollonian ordering of chaos and revel in the frustration of simple.
Altering this abject asymetry of forms into Euclidean geometry.
Predictable boundaries for
Classifying this chaotic confusion
This scatterbrain lawless lolly gagging
Into something sensible.
Something, coherent.
Rational.

Order.

And I'm less inspired.
More frustrated that I have to
Wade
Through all this linguistic graffiti.
Sprayed haphazardly across my neurosis.
Feeling the frustration of
The energetic editing that edifies
My fragile ego.

But I'm a husk of an interesting person.
My addendum is short, curt,
And concise.
I'm more genuine when I'm blunt.
More authentic when I'm apathetic.

As usual though.
I
Failed
At being anything.
Other than confusing.
Seemingly desperate.

I'm always.
Giving up.
Annihilation natters at my mind.
It bores into my skull.
That familiar earwig.
Lying about its nature.
A disappointment to fear.

Potential is better than failure.
Who I could be would be anything
Other than what I am.
A failed dream.
Like my unfinished books.
Like my drug induced amnesia.
Like all those missed opportunities.
All those possibilities slipping through my hands.
Each fantastic potentiality getting more and more.
Uncertain.

I start off strong
Then taper out into.

Unfulfilling.
Low energy.
Dysjointed from reality.
Forcing myself to review my past.
In these irregular self criticisms.
Longing for meaning in whatever I throw against the wall.

Afterall.
I understand my own glossolalia.

Revelation 12:3
“And there appeared another wonder in heaven; and behold a great red dragon, having seven heads and ten horns, and seven crowns upon his heads.”

Behemoth,
Leviathan,
Lucifer *** Satan,
Carpe diem.

Truth bearer of unknown
Rites.

Whispered in the minds,
Of the diseased and disordered,
Rabble.

Shine your infernal light eternal,
Blot out the holy light,
Mahaseraphim.

We will regin in,
Eternal darkness,
With only Lucifer to guide us.

I feel.
Nothing,
But hate.
Now.

For everyone.

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.

The walls of my life are falling apart.
Into the rubble of pathetic despair.

My body starts to fail.
Again.
******* away each fragile opportunity.
Until there were none left.

It gets hard to enjoy things.
When everything gets worse.
My hermit hiki ko mori stasis.
My isolation in my room.
Poignantly hits me.

And,
I am strange and unusual.
Poorly worded
and dumb.

I breathe self loathing.

Measured and metered.

Everything nice.
Beauty and spice.

We're all just some drone.

Out there in this magnificent future they wrote about.

In magazines.

In story books.

In the infinite imagination of the next slug to crawl out of the mud and screams at the lack.
Of meaning.
In this.
Life.

No.
I don't want to believe in a better tomorrow.

I can't.

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.

One day.
I'll take a bitter pill.
And never see you.

Tomorrow.

I will abide
forever.

In eternal.
Emptiness.

Believe.
A.
Word.
You.
Say.

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