nothing makes these feelings hurt worse
than not acknowledging they're here.
Alone again like it is every weekend
and you speak to the scars on your wrists-
tell them to go away.
But they just end up appearing somewhere else
I'm tired of feelings.
I long for the ability to feel nothing
so I could harness what it takes be okay
and use it to my advantage
so success would be just a nod away.
Instead I am nodding off because of these pills in my hand
and this head on my shoulders-
it's been almost 9 hours since my last meal
and I can taste the acid in my stomach
demanding refuge-
it, like me is tired of being left alone.
I am here-
sitting upon this mattress broken bones
and broken mind.
Trying to think of ways to put a cast upon it
so I can stop thinking so backwards
to start writing for the future
but these hands don't know time.
It is nothing but figment to this poetry.
I wished it still helped me-
I wish standing upon a stage
or tapping at these keys was still worth something.
But these words have become devalued to me now.
Too many to count-
it's an inflation of my current insanity
so nothing is of importance anymore
we're all carrying around words like they're nothing
building monuments and meaning out of virtue-
wishing upon stars we could build homes
out of these stanzas.
But the economy *****-
turns out so does this poem.