self-destruction as the human brain's only hobby

my poems are getting messy
but at least i cleaned out my room
of used pillows and blankets and people and trinkets that i no longer needed
bare minimums, start over, again
like you've done a thousand times before

does the soul age with every person it consumes?
do we stay forever in this place if we preserve ourselves, by keeping around people from which we feed?
- parasites.

why am i so young
my brain has murdered
thousands
of
innocents
and washed the blood on my hands with liquid gold that solidified and made the never-leaving stains invisible to the human eye

beauty is in the eye of the beholder
so move on, nothing to see here

i am relentlessly
failing