This is the bottom.
For months, I have felt this hollow tunnel inside of me. It has been the only constant for a while. Like a wind tunnel on fire.  

Steadily I have felt worse in ways I never imagined. Each morning has been harder to get out of bed; I genuinely can't remember a day that didn't start with me bent over the toilet. Yet I stand, shakily. Sometimes covered in ***** - and I clean myself up.
I get in my car. And I drive to work.

I am empty inside. I have no story. I have no melody.
I am untitled.

Every morning at six-thirty I sit
at that table by the window and drink
my coffee. No, I’m retired. As you see,
I can see that corner, and most days the kids
come there to wait for the bus to take them to
the high school. Usually, it’s two boys and a girl.
No, I don’t know them or their names, but I’d
recognize them. So, they stand there talking
and smoking -- whether cigarettes or something
else I don’t know, but sometimes they shared it.
And I’m thinking the boys shared the girl too,
because one day one’s kissing her, the next day
he doesn’t show and she’s kissing the other.
That was yesterday. Then today the first boy
walks up and bang! bang! -- he shoots them both,
the girl and the boy, point blank in the head like
Pacino in Scarface. Yes, I’ll testify.
But please catch the little ******* before
he finds out I’m a witness and pops me too.

I want to give up...
my problems are
way scarier than others,
I am everything, the center,
unfavorable situations
find me like a childhood friend,

Trouble trouble everywhere
No time to live,
If I live for some days
double trouble pursue me
to outlive,

I'm Hamlet, Macbeth, Othello, King Lear
Shakespeare wrote my predicaments
six centuries earlier,
My birth was a tragedy,
I'm armored in 'hamartia', 'anagnorisis'
'peripeteia', and what not
searching my doom to
entertain few who paid to see me,
I have none neither unity of time,
or place or action,

I don't deserve this,
But
What should I do?
I have no means and measures or methods,
to raise my hand and say,
"Sir, this disgusts me, living like this doing
same task same time all day"
Count me absent since today,
I'm going never to come,

What a sick time this is,
everyone is hating everyone,
I hate everyone too,
why shouldn't I?
I'd one demand,
I want to study, but no one had money
to pay, neither family, nor state, or center,
I saw them investing in bricks and stones
I saw them collecting taxes,
But no one came,
I wanted to work no had work to offer.

So I am writing, venting off my anguish,
Okay so if you are here, I call you my confidant,
keep it a secret,
You know I am alone now
But I wasn't before, a girl I love but never
told her my feeling, why????

Yes, she is employed, she earns I do not,
I fear this, I search for work, not that
I need one, I crash on the footpath,
live on the discarded crumbs out
the big restaurant in my city,
I'm not invoking pity in you--
Argumentum ad Misericordiam--
stating just the fact sir,
I believe in "Less is MOre"
and indeed I have less and I am happy
but what troubles me is her,
Ah! it's not that easy, I've heard
they don't take seriously unemployed guys,
Yes, sir, I may be wrong, but I don't want to
take any chance,
Life is not a life sir without her,

You can judge this in the tone
after I started tak]lking about her.
I love her dearly,
But who doesn't sir?
when they are young,

'Life is but a dream,' I question the value of it;
at the edge of life, the edge of time, the edge of our reality;
at the edge of this cliff, we edge ourselves to a falling death.
But what if the fall to our death is like a dream—falling into
a hole, gaining speed close to it's undersurface? We'd wake
up before we hit the ground.

But would I wake up in a cold sweat; or in tears, of longing to
find what lies in the somber of a deep hole? Maybe my soul?
Haha; it's outline must of been shaped by the mind's many dreams,
my child. For what good was it; in the spirit ties of it being lost in the world?  A world at times that doesn't feel as real:
but just a life of a dream.

So by this edge, clutched by the winds of background; hold your
breath before you and I jump. Time may, or may not slow in the
plunge to the valley's undersurface. Still perhaps, this all could be
a dream, and we'll both wake up before we hit the bottom.

Surely it must be, because I don't know a reality to be as brave
to commit such an act. Why pinch yourself, when you've been
pinched by pillars of salt in life—sourness and bitterness?

Oh my inner child, life is but a dream:
and soon we'll both wake up from it.

I read from my seventh gay YA novel of the year as the central line whirls by my skull
scraping away the buried sensations
looking across the pockmarked platform
to year 8
the boy who I kissed in secret in the changing rooms
suddenly looked like death on the school pitch
since the passes were now higher harder and tackles less friendly
without words exchanging I think maybe then he knew our practice wasn’t something we could repeat
that the risk of pretending to be as much of lover a boy can was too adult too real for lunchtime escapes
maybe then my feet knew his retreating frame in the summer heat was an unconscious betrayal           my heart failing to reach out and soothe his agony when the metal studs flirted with his skin
and he’s looking up at me like a salve like some sort of safe haven leaving him on the astroturf to bleed alone
and in that moment
I reach out across the lines to try to smooth out his face and tell him he will stand
and his smile will make the pain yield
and his hands will hold another boy
and will not be left alone
I pull my hand back to let him rest at last
and the train pulls in.

Someone who means a great deal to me once said that you can’t find love. You can’t go searching for it, it finds you. It finds you out of nowhere and once it’s there you can’t ignore it. I thought that was a cute way of putting things and continued on with life, waiting for love to find me. But then I got impatient and tried to find it on my own, but it never happened. I was terrified of relationships for some unknown reason or past trauma, and I never found it. Until it found me.
It steamrolled me completely out of nowhere and I didn’t see it coming. It was the worst and best thing that ever happened to me because it was beautiful to feel so deeply for someone and not feel any fear to let myself fall. For my best friend, someone I could spend hours talking to.
Only you didn’t feel it too. Apparently you can ignore it, or maybe fate is sick and twisted and Cupid only hit me.
So I love you. I love you and I can’t stop and it absolutely ***** because you don’t feel the same way for me. I know even if you did we’d never work out and yet if you sat me down and tried to convince me of all the reasons we would always be wrong for each other and never right, I wouldn’t be able to stop.
Trust me, I wish I could. I wish I hated you instead, or just didn’t care at all.
But I can’t stop. You could break my heart ten times over and I wouldn’t be able to stop. I don’t understand why but it’s just a fact.
I’ll always wonder why I’m not good enough or if maybe you’ll ever change your mind.
Maybe one day I’ll stop, finally get over it, but for now I’m stuck here never being able to get over you. I can’t move on, I can’t stop hurting, I can’t stop loving you. I don’t know that I’ll ever feel this way about someone again, or if I manage to get over you if I even want to, because I don’t ever want to be crushed like this again.
Because I love you. And you don’t love me.