I am damaged goods A corruption of heart Up from abyssal depths, Down to desolate clouds. The fragment lying between I am not the incessant air, A rage of non awakening. Culmination of all fears. No words do then, describe me; I do not conform to rules. Exception I am; ambiguous A regular consonantal fool ? Decreed to consume it all I carry a ravenous thirst. Unchecked; I grow fervor A demon, I am accursed. Where, then, do I find home Where does my soul belong ? Whom shall I call my tribe Then; what do I, thus long ? I am damaged goods, get ye' I do not conform to codes. I belong to the nether realm Let me lie, in my .. abode. Do not then, exhume me, I have chosen to slither in. And, Lie dormant in the underground. Where exist I may, in quiet Lie hidden away, from the carnal realm, I want none of it. A monster of my own making, A necromancer of the Undead.
An ode to both Dostoevsky and Lovecraft. I tried describing the existential pain of being in a world where you understand too much and thus are left, disappointed in everything, people.