Maybe I’ll beat up my sister today to deal with reflexive reprieve. No.

I think it’s because people are  disappointments.

Maybe it’s because I’m afflicted with poverty. This is not real poverty, just the poverty I live with, the type I’ll see today and tomorrow.

Maybe its because we have the opposite of wealth and will never have enough to facilitate a dream. Fathers a salesman what can I do?

It’s because I’m disappointed with how shallow my life has been.

The hollow sound of heavy rain
As it beats upon an empty chest
No leaves to tear or lives to end
There is only rain
And storms unrest

I've awakened to grey themes,
they cling to me.
I am myself again,
but nowhere near.

I am myself again,
as if death had life to give.
An offering at best,
and crippling the gift.

It bends, it burns,
it dies.
It's held in so tight,
just let it die.

It builds, it floods,
it's empty.
Spewing out the same nonsense
from so long ago.

Eclipsed by the blood,
blackened by the stares.
Dead death blooms,
lingering a hollow consciousness.

I wish I could hate you like I used to,
the ferocious hate that came after the betrayal.
I remember when I still loved you,
my endless devotion that ended up being fatal.

After it happened, you made my blood boil.
I could barely look at your face without wanting to shout.
It made me sick, my stomach would turn and roil,
how you still were able to fill me with self-doubt.

But now, I don't ever see you.
I don't ever think about you.
And on the rare occasion I do,
I feel nothing for you.

And that, for some reason makes me feel sad.
All my passion for you, just gone.
It's too hollow, and even if this sounds bad,
I wish I still hated you, at least that's a feeling I could count on.

I feel like the laughs and smiles rattle in my chest like my anti-depressants when I shake the bottle.

It feels so hollow and dark until I light up momentarily, and then it dies again.

The smiles and laughs are like bugs in a jar, you shake them and they move, but leaving them in too long kills them off.

I just can't understand why I cry feeling this pain but then inflict it upon myself when I can't feel anything at all.

I can't help but think how ****** up I am, taking pills, talking about my problems, slicing my arms until they drip with blood.

It's impossible for me to be happy when this hollow feeling lingers with my emotions as its prisoner.

Shaking itself, rattling them up to taunt them until they cry out.

I can't live in this false hope anymore.

There is no help for me, no happiness for me here.

They're just echoes that bounce off the walls in my chest.

No one can hear the loud pain beneath this numb body.

It's like screaming for help underneath water.

and happiness is the one keeping me under. It's

Pointless

Lies,

Egocentric

Abuse,

Silence

Eerie filled rooms full of avengeful ghosts. I can't help but feel,

Hateful

Erratic

Lament

Perplexed by these feelings that rattle in my ribcage.

Maybe this life isn't for me
Eternal emptiness that can not be fulfilled.