narcissistic thought
introspective questions
philosophy
and solid facts

please get out of my head
I'd honestly rather be dead
or at least sleeping
than searching my soul
or creating some ******* identity

this isn't a poem
you've been fooled
this is a comatose rant

this is cigarette ashes
blowing in the air
it smells like **** and gasoline

this is the scratch of a strangers beard
and his alcoholic breath
and his secrets that he's drinking away

this is failure at the end of a movie
this is disappointment
without a hiccough of glorious relief

only empty
yet overflowing
words
strung together with teenage angst
and a yearning for someone
to tell me that I'm not the only one
who sees this world
this frail sense of humanity

this is uncomfortable, sweaty bedsheets
this is tossing and turning
this is sleep with no rest

this is a stubbed toe after a breakup
this is my grey matter
attempting to produce something worth typing
and failing

but I'm too stubborn to give up.
I'm sorry.