What am I supposed to do with all
Of this
Unhinged
Passion —
Okay, calling it passion is a stretch.
It’s boiling ******* anger
For my own existence.

What am I to do?
Share it? With whom?
Who might appreciate?
Even if they do,
I’d probably be dissatisfied
About something.
I’m sure of it.

Why am I so
Existentially dissatisfied?
At what point will I think
Anything is enough,
Or worthy of my
Approval?

Does it need to destroy me in order for me to respect it?

I’m making myself sound like a *****.
Really, I am
But a self aware one.
Like, I realize that I’m a pretentious *******
And I hate myself for it,
So that you don’t have to.

Why do I long for attention,
When I am so
Disgusted
By it

Just pathetic,
It’s like I think
the window which I’m looking out of
Makes me better
Than those who have a different view.

Sometimes I wish I was stupid so that I wouldn’t think I was better than other people.
Or at least stupid enough
To ignore my own hypocrisy.
Why the ****
does it always come back to
That story about
The flowers for that dead ******* rat

Is it too late to get a lobotomy?

Thought you'd be the cynosure of this story
The protagonist, given all the glory
Instead you felt merely equal
To an extra in an unwatched sequel.


Imagined it to be Cinematic & song-like
Eons before that killjoy took the mic
Now certain sensations that you come by
engenders the exhale, of a melancholic sigh


Contrary to the rhapsody, in your mind
life is left indefinite & undefined
Until the mayhem ends in dysphoria
to the fool who long- awaited euphoria.


Are you a believer or sycophant to god?
-intentions of fulfilling desires, rather odd
So comes the unsolicited truth; the kalopsia
That triggers the many nights of insomnia

Everyones the protagonist
to their deceptive movie life
made-up delusional illusions
to distract us from the strife.
Delude ourselves into
the minds- 'Hollywood'
hallucinating surrealism
numb & evasive to reality
& the creeping white noise of realism.
We lose track of fleeting memories
as we chase feign & shallow visions,
end up reviling our true form
& make some of the worst decisions.
Are we humour to the gods?
& ideals to the slaves of hell
Are you living in your minds- 'Hollywood'-
       Or are you living your reality well?

Beware of people

who cheer you along the way –


like vanes in the wind.

I've reached a fork in the road and its time to decide. There's no clear path. My way is blinded by a light.

The decisions I make, I must stand by and at the side. Strong and tall in the fact that I chose the way with my inner guide.

Is this the ending you had in your mind? When the fork came and forced you to decide.

Was the fork created in your thought riddled mind? Was the journey one on which you could abide?

Or could you have stayed in the grey and stood aside?

The decisions you must make are they on your path or in your mind?

That is the true dilemma on which you must decide.

Work? Still permitted.
If you’re still employed, that is.
Your windows are grey?
Just paint another rainbow.
Clap again if you fancy

how did we start,
equating hope to silly?
the fallacy of optimism,
contrasted by the truth of pessimism,
confused as realism, facts
sent by a goal of ataraxia
(unachievable)

supported by leadership position
(unaccessible)

tinted of eudaimonia
(indefinible)
and the loss of getting ahead
at what cost?
do you tear down
others' hope
with your glance,
fuelled by your own
cowardly manner,
afraid of losing
what you never had,
walks around telling others they won't miss it?