The words don't form in my head like they used to.

There's nothing lucid anymore.
Nothing eloquent.

Just half aborted thoughts.
Too ugly to be born.
A constant stream of non sequiturs.

Frustration.
Intermingled with the constant state of depression.
A sad sorry excuse for a human being.
Little old misanthropic me.


Resigned to obfuscated imagery.
To broken thoughts.
To feeble ideas.
To the self loathing negative confirmation bias.
To the absolute state of my mind.