My meds don't work and my therapist hates me.
My friends have given up on me after years of unreciprocated attempts to connect.
I lack the energy and drive to live productively most days
and
Although I do not agree with what they do -
I envy the commitment and determination set forth by
serial killers.

It is difficult for me to enjoy art nowadays.
Not for lack of quality
but
because
it reminds me that I lack the ability
to create something that moves others
the way that art moves me

My message very rarely conveys the depth
of my experience.

I am lost mostly
I use these words to make sense
of what makes no sense at all.