I'm gonna die soon all alone
Livin by myself and in my bones
I know I'm gonna die alone
My voice is stuck in a monotone

My soul has no tone its all gray
A boring voice with nothing to say
My heart can't take work and no play
While I'm growing older every may

Running out the clock, need more time
Losing out cause I need overtime
Just put me in a light that's lime
All this pain, what I let out in rhyme

Blame it on the system
That never helped those within
Blame it on the depression
That furthers a spiritual recession

Blame it on those around me
That ignore, deciding not to see
Blame it on the one at the center
That ignores the cold in winter

The blame rests on my back
The blame rests on all I lack
The blame rests there till I crack
The blame so restless a heart attack

As I fall into an abyss thoughts turn black
Hard fought steps forward just to fall back
The last call back as I step right off the track
Stand tall even as I sink into the depth lost in cracks

Cracks like valleys and in valleys a kindness
Escape from happiness and all that brightness
Lights so painful to my shadowed eyes  
Fights and spite my dark outcries

Lost in the shadow of the valley
The fire of rage snuffed nothing to rally
Acceptance of blame so biased is folly
Is there any blame out there really

The blame dies in my thoughts
The blame dies in my throat
The blame is just a frame caught
Snapped and shuttered shot

Nothing to blame when nothings wrong
Bad break after bad break nothing wrong
Abandoned by those close, nothing wrong
Expectations and high hopes somethings wrong

Assumptions of happiness and fulfillment
Consumption of giddiness and achievement
Got me dying of consumption
Lost in my own assumption

Get ****** over get put down doesn't matter
Bad luck but I still get up and it doesn't matter
Dont deserve any of it not the enemies not the hate it dont matter
Don't deserve any of it not the friends not the love it dont matter

I could die sad and alone completely undeserved
Or surrounded by those closest completely undeserved
I deserve nothing and if I get everything its completely deserved
For all my work to die in a gutter or a home is what I deserve

This is a happy poem.

It exists because I say it does.

You may be asking yourself, ‘But this does not follow the correct syntactical, structural or grammatical elements of formalised poetry. How, therefore, is this a poem?’

To which I would I would reply

This is a poem.

You may also be asking yourself ‘But this ‘poem’ contains no witticisms, no joyful rumination on pre-pubescent anecdotes nor even wistful dreams of improved quality of life. How, therefore, is this happy?’

To which I would reply

This is happy

You may find yourself pondering further on the question, ‘if this is neither a poem, nor is it particularly happy, then for what artistic purpose has this author decided to consciously mislead the respective audiences into believing that this piece of writing would A) be a poem and B) be happy?’

To which I would reply

Huh.

Fair point.

you can't
chart
when the
journey
starts.

it beckons
for a timeless beginning,
and a perpetual ending

this journey, defined
by the creases on my palms
but the callouses i've created, too;

it burns me alive.
      --i beg for an end. i beg for an end i beg for an--

{thus my journey has begun, and my only potential misstep could be sailing the river back home too soon}

i am, therefore i am a to be
but to be what?
to be what, i ask?
i am a to be, and to be a to be means i am a will be
but will be what?
what will i be?
and if i am to be a will be, i will have to have been a won't be
what have i not been if not being?
and if i am both a will be and a won't be, i will have to have been a never be
what will i never be?
what will i never have been?
because i am a will be and am to be a have been
and a haven't been
and a have done
and a haven't done
what have i if not to be and to have been?
i am, therefore i am a to be
what am i but a to be to be forgotten?

My whole body feels weak,
and I can’t help but imagine
this would have been the perfect time
for you to use me,
if you hadn’t already.

Scampering, Scurrying
Everyone a Worrying.
From behind the lines
Of time,
It’s hard to find a passion.
Haggling, Hurrying
Society in a flurry.
Fury of consumer
Wrapped pretty for distraction.
This mutual attraction towards
Things instead of people,
Is done at the satisfaction of
Big corporations
Instilling evil.
From behind the lies of lime
It’s hard to hide reaction.
No grip to prevent slip-
No citric acid traction.