I want to write, but what about?
I have nothing to say, no words to make.
Every idea is just a half bake.

I want to learn, but how?
I can't focus for long, my attention span fades.
Every idea it forbades.

I want to love, but whom?
Who would ever have feelings for me?
Doomed to loneliness for eternity.

I've put little effort into this,
But maybe that's ok.
I don't need to work hard every day.

i play with a pencil, placed on my desk
pattering the patterns playing in my head
and heart, helping me to focus on the board
proudly performing arts in art class, thinking of more
than the blank page
the perfect slate
the new creation to be made
im creating
recreating
imitating
the intimidating, impressive instrument
imprinting the imprints through pencil and finger prints
banging out the band's
sick-nasty
convulsive
seizure inducing
polyrhythms-
i shake my head
but i wish i could shake my soul
scream out of control
yell until their ears bleed
and i ***** uncontrollably
to the sound of these sounds sounding
like i need to say something to stop their stomping, stamping, pounding

-the teacher kicks my desk
and tells me to get back to work
and to stop tapping
because i should be doing something else;
it doesn't matter
can't remember what it was i was supposed to be doing anyway-

Do what I want...
Oh, what a taunt.
I wish I could.
There's no way I should.

I want to go home
I want to write a book
Sit back on memory foam
In a cozy little nook.

To stay home with my kids
And my wonderful wife
To shut my eyelids
And sleep without strife

I want to talk to the people
Who wander my mind
To sit and slowly pull
And scribe as stories unwind

For my family, I want to care
To give them all they need
And always be there
So they've lives they want to lead.

I just want to function
To not give my all
Just to end in destruction
Not to fall and fall and fall

I want to like the man in the mirror
To not see myself with disgust,
As something lowly, inferior.
I want to be worth your trust

Do what I want...
Oh, what a taunt.
Maybe I should,
But there's no way I could.

I had three cups of coffee for breakfast.
I slept in a t-shirt two sizes too big,
and I took one too many Adderall (i think).
I sat at the table with the same book
I opened a few months ago,
reading the same few pages from yesterday,
hoping that today would be the day
it all made sense (much like you).
I started to wash the dishes,
but I only got a quarter
of the way done
before I ran out of soap,
much like my effort, or lack thereof.
On these days, my anxiety
is less of an adjective
and more like a state of being.
Everything has become exhausting,
waking up, going to sleep.
Yet, I do it all so well, and nothing
seems to satisfy the insatiable
hunger of the constant chatter
in the back of my head
that screams, “Go”
leave this place with dishes
in the sink, and half-filled
coffee cups behind
and never return.

I [think] I took one too many Adderall.

I don't understand why I keep filling the void with the things that are supposed to make me happy but I'm just not.

How? Why?

I have every reason to be grateful.
I have everything I could probably ever need now but there's a void and I can't figure out what I'm so **** ******* sad about. So empty for.

I dive deep into my being, into my heart and mind and I can't find it.

The hunger that resides in me.

Is it human?

Is that why we are basically parasites on this planet?

Constantly taking but never giving.

Where the actual **** do I belong?

Where is my home?

Where do I go?

What should I do?

No one is here to tell me now.
No one is here to tell me how.
No one is ******* here.