I'm always at my best.
By myself.

And, if you plumb these.
Fathomless depths.

Of my inner life.

You'll find all of my.
Hyperbole.
I use to comfort me.

I coulda been something better.
Than a failed poet.
Who never wrote a good word.

At least I like to think I tried.
But, really.
I was just screaming at myself.

An empty head full of pointlessness.
Facts, theories, ideas.
Tepid facile fraudulent half thought out fantasies.

And, my friend.
If you find yourself in my personal.
Ocean.

I'll steal the water.

**** it deep in my core.
With all the interesting things I think.

No one really knows.
Cause I don't tell them.

In that hypothetical transcript of my personal failure.
I'll make the inconsistencies.
some of  these.
Vague requests to just.

Leave me alone.

To dance.
And be forgotten.

God's mistake.
A contradiction.

Nothing.