It always felt like something.
Inevitable.
That at some point in time.

I'd be.
Good.
At something and all the ****.
I went through.

Would
mean something.

And, it was for a lack of trying.
Cause I didn't bother.
Not that I regret these nights I spend.
In my mind imagining images of magnificent things.

Better than this.
Subliminal torture.
Waiting for the patterns to equal.
A some of its parts.

I just can't quit.
These confessions.

That I'm not here anymore.
My fantasy babe, my partner,
My magic moment denied.
My cowards nature belied.

I'll scream passively into the void.
As I enjoy these.
My last moments.
Awake.

To recede into the banal mundane.
Of the routine.

Pity party.