Some say,
the glass,
is half empty,
Some say,
the glass,
is half full,
I just say,
it’s broken.
Not expecting,
anything at all.
And isn’t that easy?
There’s no line,
on that imaginary glass,
waiting to be filled,
or emptied.
It’s just,
broken.
No expectations,
at all,
not waiting,
for a,
**** thing.
A broken thing,
can’t be filled,
no matter how hard,
you try,
it just makes,
a mess,
all over.
Almost like,
the thoughts,
in your,
mind.
Just make sure,
it’s not,
made of,
glass.

What would actually happen if I silenced the negativity and overcame my crippling anxiety?
Afraid I'll find that it's genetically built into my DNA or could only be removed surgically, it could get messy
It would be a ****** end cause it's not like I do the professionally, I live recklessly
Every day I wake up angry and progressively get to the point where it's to heavy to advance any, it's shackled me
You think I chose this way of life to be what defines me? Hell no, it came about organically, in spite of me
Now it's just a part of my anatomy staking claim to the entire piece of property
I look in the mirror and notice my biggest fear, I don't see me in the reflection aggressively starring back at me
The face I see is dramatically distorted photography of who I use to be mixed with something far more ugly
A sloppy photo copy, I barely recognize this beastly imagery, it could be that maybe I'm just not seeing clearly
Clear my thoughts and rinse my eyes quickly then open again but this time slowly
Seriously?! Still no shred of beauty and its worse if I look inwardly which I refuse do cause I'm far to cowardly
It's scary like a fairy tale before its picked up by Disney, originally a horror story that's been pasted down generationaly
I try saying I'm sorry to myself but the words don't come easy, at times all together escaping me
Then a thought hit me squarely knocking me down a peg or three
Who am I without this dark energy? Could I pick myself out of a crowd if the hurt and pain left permanently?
Would I, could I recognize me through the tricky shrubbery surrounding me completely
It's literally a fixture rooted in my history, it's overtaken not just my psyche but is now plain to see physically
Could I realistically live with hope and decency if they took up long term residency?
What would I do with happy if it moved onto my private property and claimed the territory?
Would I properly embrace the new me or hate the empty inside, the vacancy neon flickering annoyingly
I shouldn't be use to sorrow being at max capacity, I wanted change so badly but it's slippery
What would I do with the time I once spent waiting for the next tragedy to come and challenge my grip on reality
Every catastrophe seamlessly falls into place naturally like it was meant to be, designed specifically for me
I used to use comedy to hide the tragedy, at the time it seemed like a decent strategy
Let it live in my head rent free, the tenant had a tendency to use my thoughts against me while ignoring every desperate plea
I don't want to live in my history, not even temporarily but my mind doesn't work correctly, doesn't give a **** about me personally
Turned over the key to a better me then was torn apart strategically with a savagery not seen in this century
Eventually it caught up and changed my trajectory, placed on a one way street not labeled properly
So I may not come back on the scene, may not have that kind of longevity, I guess I'll have to wait and see
But I'm obviously past the point of no return, the objects in my rearview are closer than they appear to be
And the windshield is to ***** to see the road directly in front of me complicating my journey
I can't guarantee I won't crash and burn on reentry but I will say there definitely...probably...most likely won't be a search party
Is it Stockholm or gluttony, like it or not the recipe for what not to do will be my legacy
The distinction is tricky when I hold no empathy for myself so I throw up my hands hopelessly, never in victory
This isn't the way it was supposed to be but I never had a say in my destiny, I didn't even know that was a possibility
Honestly, if I had any dignity it would significantly alter my whole reason to be
But my will has been ripped from me brutally, I don't want to go on but I would like to stay, a twisted duality
An unnatural complexity, hypocrisy just another personality disorder, a horder of the impossibility unlucky
Adding to the pile that's already a burden to my humanity, no happily ever after, this is reality
Animosity aimed directly at my entirety, to tired to be wrestling with the same old ****, pushing 40
If I don't have this figured out by now what's the likelihood I'll learn new tricks? There isn't any
That should be all I need but ultimately I know it won't be cause I'm the embodiment of misery
To change that would mean I'd be a stranger in my own body, an anomaly
And that frightens me to my very core so here I sit in purgatory for all eternity
Hold your pity, I'm okay with it cause no matter how gory it's gonna get, at least it's a bit of familiar territory
Comfort found within the familiarity I have with the words in the retelling of a not so family friendly ghost story

©2022

I ordered,
Chinese food,
last night,
cracked a cookie,
the slip of paper,
told me,
I was,
going to,
die,
and that I,
needed to,
live,
my life,
instead,
I swallowed,
the words,
of advice,
we never take,
but probably,
should.

Do you ever wish the
Pleasant visionaries
Of your daydreams
Were aware
They lived in your
Imagery?

I’m in need,
of a savior.
Just something,
to pull me tight,
and tell me,
no,
don’t go,
I need you.
But life,
isn’t the movies.
You’re the one,
who told me,
that line.
I kinda sorta,
always thought,
life was ironic,
the way it,
worked out.
How I’d say stop,
and the sign,
well it would,
yell at me,
to go.
Swallow the lump,
turn around,
but no,
no,
not this time,
I gotta,
go,
I’m going to,
run.
I’m sorry,
I’m going home,
to the fields of daffodils,
and dandelions,
that we make wishes on.
Even if,
they may,
or may not,
come true.
That’s,
what’s fun.
Life will never,
be the movies,
but it’s certainly,
a song.